


Finish Line

by cometchained



Series: Always Return to Me [1]
Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Angst, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Canon, Psychological Trauma, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2605727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cometchained/pseuds/cometchained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto goes to university. Haru trains. Life moves on. Everything changes.</p><p>Except some things don't, and that's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Better With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto has no doubt that Haru will do great things in the future, especially with his swimming career taking off like it has. And meanwhile, Makoto is quietly learning how to be a good swim coach, taking classes that he really loves and finds interesting. He's not jealous; he much prefers this to being in the spotlight, and he's extremely supportive of what Haru has chosen to do - but at the same time, he can't help but feel a little sad that one day Haru will go too far for Makoto to follow.
> 
> They've always been together. He selfishly wants to keep it that way.

It's been three days since he's heard from Haru. 

Normally, Makoto calls him every day, at the very least just to make sure that he's gotten home safely from practices; their apartments are a twenty minute train ride away from one another, which isn't too long, but sometimes feels longer. Makoto has grown accustomed to walking home with his best friend from school, and changing that routine is taking some getting used to on his end. Going from seeing someone every day to seeing them only a few days a week, if even that, is strange and unfamiliar, and still sometimes Makoto will turn his head to say something to Haru, only to remember that he's not there.

(Sometimes he thinks it would be easier if they lived together, but then he thinks that maybe Haru would find that weird, so he's never suggested it; and that would mean a longer commute for them both, really.)

When he calls Haru on Thursday night, the four day mark, it goes straight to his voice mail. Makoto stares at the phone in his hand with mixed feelings of exasperation and concern, because he has the feeling that _someone_ forgot to charge their phone again, and that Makoto is probably the only one noticing that they haven't spoken to each other in days. Haru is nothing if not stoic, and even though most of their communication can be done without saying a single word, since he can't _see_ Haru all the time, it's reassuring to be able to at least _hear_ him. Haru is certainly capable of taking care of himself, but there are many aspects of him that are still childlike, and Makoto tries very hard not to think too much about it.

It's been three months since they've come to Tokyo - not together, at least not at first. Rin was the first to leave, giving them all a shark-toothed grin and a promise to call them at least once a week to keep them updated on how things were going in Australia (though he's been slacking as of late; things must be getting heated in all of his competition). Makoto had left next, amid teary goodbyes from Nagisa and Rei, the former of which who clung to him and made him _swear to always keep in contact and never forget them_ ( _as if he even could,_ he'd laughed good-naturedly, as he'd ruffled Nagisa's hair and wrung Rei's hand). Haru had merely grasped Makoto's shoulder and given him a tiny, private smile, and that was it. 

But it wasn't until three weeks after Makoto had gotten himself settled in that he'd opened his door one day to find Haru there, his bags at his feet and the declaration that he'd decided to attend a swimming university in Tokyo and could Makoto please let him stay the night until he could go to his own place the next day?

After that, things had just sort of fallen into place. Makoto went to classes and did schoolwork. Haru trained and ate mackerel. They met every weekend, even if all it consisted of was Haru watching television while Makoto wrote essays or solved math problems. When they were not together, Haru would call to say he'd gotten home safely, and Makoto would call to check up on him and make sure he was eating something other than fish. And for a while, it had seemed to work just fine. It wasn't their normal routine, but it was still a routine.

At least until today, when Makoto opens his phone and then shuts it again, trying not to worry, even though he wants to; even though he's half tempted to call yet again, in spite of already knowing what will happen when he does. But since sitting around doing nothing has never been productive, he gets up and makes his way to the little kitchenette, and within a few moments, he has food cooking on the stove and rice heating up in the cooker. He's never been a particularly good cook, but at least he knows the basics, and can hold his own enough to survive.

The doorbell rings; Makoto glances at his watch, then slides out from behind the counter, wiping his hands on the apron around his waist and pulling open the front door.

"Yes?" he starts to say, but then he stops abruptly, because Haru is standing on his front stoop, and this is about the last thing that was to be expected.

"Makoto," Haru says, and Makoto just stares at him, momentarily taken aback before a wide smile breaks out across his face.

"Haru-chan!" he says, forgetting that he's not supposed to use the childish title, and simultaneously ignoring the silly way that his heart seems to leap inside of his chest. He steps back, ushering his best friend into the apartment and shutting the door behind him. "Hey! I was just thinking about you, please come in!"

The tone of his voice is deliberately casual, but there is a note of concern in it that he's unable to fully hide, Makoto's brows drawing together as he adds hesitantly, "You okay, Haru? I've been trying to call you for a few days, I was worried something had happened..."

But he trails off, because Haru is blinking slowly up at him, looking very Haru-ish, and then he shakes his head a little, dark hair falling across his forehead. "I'm fine," he says, in the same quiet voice he's always had, rarely above that same volume. It's so _familiar_ so warm and inviting and reassuring that Makoto almost doesn't hear the rest of what Haru's trying to say. "I lost my phone charger, I only just got a new one today. And stop calling me _-chan."_

Some of the tension eases from Makoto's shoulders. He gives a little laugh, and he looks relieved as he says, "I'm glad it was nothing serious, I thought for a bit you might have fallen asleep in the bathtub again because I wasn't there to pull you out."

Haru snorts, and lets his bag fall from his shoulder onto the floor. Almost automatically, Makoto stoops to pick it up and carries it into the living room, where he deposits it next to the chair Haru always sits in when he comes. The man himself follows, shuffling along like a sleepy puppy, and sinks down, giving a yawn. Makoto gives him a look, and then asks, "You're here a day earlier than usual, Haru; everything okay with training?"

Haru slowly nods as the tea kettle on the stove gives a piping whistle. Makoto ambles over towards it, and as he works, he hears Haru continue, "I have the day off tomorrow; Coach Wakafumi is going on vacation, so we get an extra weekend day. I thought it would be good to come over early. I was going to call you, but..."

He trails off, and Makoto laughs, pulling sets of dishes down from his cabinets. "Your phone was dead, right. Did you need to get a new charger? We can go to the store tomorrow, if you'd like, after classes."

Makoto is very, very happy to see Haru safe and sound, and is doing his best to not let the full brunt of his emotions show, but he's not quite sure he's doing a good job of that. There's just something about having Haru here in his apartment that makes him a little nervous; but at the same time, Makoto can't deny that he'd much rather see him than not see him. A part of him wants to ask more questions, but the other part of him just wants to drink in the sight of his best friend, remind himself that Haru is here and that nothing has changed between them; that Haru still cares for Makoto as much as he ever did.

That he hasn't moved on without him, which is often what Makoto fears the most - that one day Haru will be so far out of his reach that he'll forget Makoto is still there. He knows that it's irrational, really; that they have a connection between them not easily broken, but the anxieties are not overcome so soon, nor so simply. Makoto has no doubt that Haru will do great things in the future, especially with his swimming career taking off like it has. And meanwhile, Makoto is quietly learning how to be a good swim coach, taking classes that he really loves and finds interesting. He's not jealous; he much prefers this to being in the spotlight, and he's extremely supportive of what Haru has chosen to do - but at the same time, he can't help but feel a little sad that one day Haru will go too far for Makoto to follow.

They've always been together. He selfishly wants to keep it that way.

"Makoto?"

Haru's voice is gentle, curious. Makoto swings a pan a little too far and it crashes against the side of the refrigerator, jolting up and down Makoto's arm. He hastily sets it down and gives a little laugh, shaking his head. "Sorry, Haru-chan," he says, a little sheepishly. "I got lost in my own thoughts, I wasn't paying attention. I might have burned the food a little..."

He trails off; Haru has come around next to him, reaching one hand out, and slender fingers have wrapped themselves around Makoto's, gently but firmly pulling them away from the saucepan. 

"I will cook," Haru says, and it takes a monumental amount of effort for Makoto to nod and step away, letting his hand fall free as Haru takes up the position in front of the stove. Makoto leans back against the counter and watches him for a few moments; and some of the tension in his shoulders begins to ebb away, easing into a more relaxed stance, because this is very familiar to him: Haru cooking and Makoto helping as needed. He has a sudden urge to reach out and brush his fingers along the back of Haru's neck, slide them through the dark strands of his hair, touch his cheek - but he doesn't.

He never does. He can't, because that's one of the things he's never told Haru, because if he did, then things would change, and he doesn't want them to change. He wants to still be able to call Haru everyday, wants to worry and fret over him like a mother hen, wants to walk to the mart and back on rainy days so that they can both come back to Makoto's apartment and eat dinner while watching a movie that Haru's picked out and then fall asleep next to each other, almost touching but not quite. 

If Makoto tells Haruka Nanase that he's been in love with him since they were both fifteen, then everything would be different.


	2. Foggy Minds and Shallow Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As long as you're okay," he says, and Haru feels his heart clench. For a moment neither of them speak; they're standing there, barely a few inches from each other, and the air between them is suddenly thick with everything unsaid. Haru wants to tilt forward, sink into Makoto's embrace, stay there until the man and the train are nothing but a distant memory. He wants to burrow into the familiarity that is Makoto Tachibana, and he wants to wrap it around himself like a cocoon and let it obliterate all of the thoughts that are bad and unpleasant.

Haru has been in love with Makoto Tachibana since they were fourteen years old.

He can remember the exact day, too. They were sitting in Makoto's house after his birthday party; everyone else had gone home, and Haru had begged his parents to let him stay the night because Makoto had just gotten a new video game. Haru had stayed up past midnight, but Makoto had fallen asleep in the middle of a game, his head drooping to rest on Haru's thin shoulder, his chest lightly rising and falling. It had happened before - Makoto was usually the one to sleep first - but for some reason, as Haru had looked down at his best friend, all he'd thought was _I would be okay if he did this every night._

He hadn't realized it was love, of course, not until they were fifteen. In the summer of their fifteenth year, Makoto grew four inches and gained several pounds of muscle from swimming and doing hard work at home, so by the time they were back at school, girls were flocking to him, whispering behind their hands about him, giggling profusely as he passed by them. Makoto never noticed, of course, but Haru did.

He notices a lot more things than people give him credit for.

On Friday, Haru wakes up slightly disoriented, and it takes him a moment to remember that he's at Makoto's a day earlier than usual, and that he doesn't have swim practice today. Makoto's apartment is only two rooms - the main living area and the bedroom, with a tiny bathroom off to the side - and he has yet to actually find a bed, in spite of all the time that's passed, so the two of them are asleep on the floor in the bedroom, their futons rolled out beside one another. Haru can't count how many times they've done this since they were kids, and every time it's the same: Makoto waits patiently for Haru to get settled into bed first and then he climbs into his own after, pulling the blankets up to his waist. He sleeps on his back, or slightly turned to the side; Haru prefers it when he's on his back, because when he's on his side, Haru can roll over and look at his peaceful, sleeping face and that makes him really nervous.

Sometimes it makes him want to reach out and touch Makoto's hair, slide his fingers along his face, feel the touch of skin against his palm, but he never does, because that would be bad. That would be very, very bad.

Haru glances over at the futon next to his, but it's empty; Makoto has already gotten up, perhaps already left for classes by now. He sits slowly up, blinking back into reality, and then slides out from beneath the blankets and gets to his feet. Padding to the door in his pajamas, he slips out and heads into the main living area, childishly hoping that the familiar sight of Makoto's broad back or his warm smile will be there to greet him.

The place is empty, however, and Haru lets out a small sigh of annoyance before noticing the note. It's propped up on the counter beside a small bowl, and Haru shuffles over to it, recognizing the familiar, hasty scrawl of his best friend:

_Hey Haru! Sorry I had to leave while you were still asleep, I had class at 8!_  
 _How about you meet me at 12 for lunch on campus? I wrote directions on the back of this!_  
 _I hope you slept well! There is mackerel in the refrigerator for you!_  
 _-Makoto_

The amount of exclamation points used kind of makes Haru a little dizzy, but he turns the paper over and scans the directions and train information. It's pretty straightforward, and he makes his way over to the fridge, digging around in Makoto's food until he finds the mackerel. It's in a little plastic box, and there is a yellow sticky note on top of it that reads: _For Haru-chan._

The earlier annoyance ebbs away, instead replaced by a funny, warm sensation in the pit of Haru's stomach. Even after all this time, there is still no one that knows him better than Makoto does, and thinking about how carefully the notes are written and how thoughtful they are makes Haru a little anxious. His face, as usual, does not register much of what he's thinking, for which he's grateful; but unfortunately, Makoto has a way of reading him even without the use of words or expressions, which means that Haru needs to get better at concealing these silly romantic notions that have been occupying his brain for years.

It's better this way, really.

(Maybe if he tells himself that enough, he'll start to believe it.)

Haru cooks himself the mackerel for breakfast, and then spends the rest of the morning watching television and tidying up a little. When the clock hits 11:20, he's too impatient, and heads to the station early, boarding the train that will take him to Makoto's university. It's only a fifteen minute ride, but the train is a little too populated for Haru's liking, and he scrunches himself in the corner of one car, staring resolutely out the window. By the time he gets off, it's only 11:40, barely, so he takes his time getting to the university, even though he's dying to see Makoto.

The cafeteria is just on the edge of the campus, and Haru makes it there by 11:50. Still too early for Makoto to be there, so Haru slouches around until he finds a good table amidst all of the throngs of students, and then he eases into a chair, closing his eyes briefly. He's never liked crowds, and there are too many people here; the sound rises to an almost uncomfortable level, and Haru trains his gaze onto a spot on the wall, idly flipping through his phone, though he's not really doing anything on it except hoping that a certain someone will call.

"Haru!"

The voice comes from somewhere behind him. Haru twists his head around, chest tight, and there's Makoto, weaving his way past people, a bright smile on his face. He's dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a gray shirt that offsets his green eyes rather nicely, eyes that are currently half hidden behind his glasses. Haru debates waving, but there's really no need; Makoto is already there, collapsing into the seat across from him, his bag hitting the floor with a thud beside him.

"I'm so glad morning classes are done," he says with a sigh. "I thought I would fall asleep if I was there any longer! But you're early, Haru, is everything okay?"

Haru almost doesn't hear him, he's too busy trying to act normal. He lifts his gaze to meet Makoto's slightly worried one, and says, "I just caught an earlier train, is all. I'm fine."

Makoto looks relieved, sinking back against the chair. "Good, I'm glad," he says, and smiles at Haru, which causes his (stupid) heart to beat just a little faster. He wills himself calm as he slides his phone into his pocket; there's no need for it, now that the real thing is right in front of him and looking like he is, all kind-eyed and tousle-haired. It looks like Makoto forgot to use a comb again this morning, his hair sticking up like a duck's tail in the back, but it's a kinda cute trait that Haru finds endearing.

"So, I have an hour break," says Makoto, tapping his fingers against the table. "And then I have one more class at one, but then I'm off for the weekend. We have to call everyone tonight for our weekly check-in, but other than that, is there anything you'd like to do this weekend, Haru-chan?"

"Don't call me _-chan,"_ says Haru automatically. "And no, not really."

A pause. Makoto raises his eyebrows.

"Are you sure that's it?" he asks innocently - _too_ innocently, and there it is again; that way Makoto has of reading him without ever needing words or even too many expressions, because he just _knows_ Haru, knows him better than anyone in the world. Haru turns his head away quickly, a dull flush of red crossing his cheeks for a variety of reasons, the primary of these being embarrassment and a desire to bury himself against Makoto's chest and stay there.

"...maybe the beach," he mumbles, barely audible, and laughter reaches his ears, Makoto pushing his chair back as he stands. 

"We can go to the beach and swim, if you want," he says cheerfully, and Haru doesn't give him the satisfaction of nodding, merely follows alongside of him as they get their lunch.

Makoto goes back to class at one, and Haru spends the next hour just wandering around the campus, finally electing to take a seat on the bench in the courtyard just outside of Makoto's classroom. He shoves his hands into his pockets and stretches his legs out in front of him, idly watching the people that walk by and wondering if any of them have the same sort of emotions bubbling about inside of them as he does - and if they're better at concealing them and getting over them than he is. Eventually Haru tilts his head back and gazes skyward, his thoughts drifting lazily, and he almost falls asleep until he feels a heavy hand descend onto his shoulder.

"Haru?"

He opens his eyes; Makoto is peering down at him.

"You didn't go very far," he says, and Haru shakes his head slowly as Makoto smiles. "Let's go home, Haru-chan," he says, and a jolt of mingled pleasure and shyness twist Haru's stomach into knots - _home_ is not Makoto's apartment, but Makoto himself, it is all that Makoto is. Makoto doesn't seem to realize what he's said, however, instead falling into step beside Haru and keeping up a steady stream of talk as they make their way back to the station. Haru finds it easy to respond, because they've been best friends for years, and everything about Makoto is easy.

Except for that whole love thing that is most decidedly _not_ easy.

The train home is crowded with students and teachers alike, as well as business men and women all on the commute back to their apartments for an early weekend. Haru and Makoto stand off to the side, Makoto standing with his hand looped on the strap above his head, Haru in front of him. It's noisy and crowded, and the lights flashing back and forth make him a little overwhelmed, but Makoto, as usual, keeps up the conversation enough to provide Haru with a distraction.

They're almost home when it happens.

Makoto is in the middle of saying something about his psychology class - _"Professor Aki says we're going to be focusing on matters of the brain next"_ \- when Haru feels something brush against his back. He assumes it's just the close proximity of those around him, but it still makes him tense up slightly, and he shifts ever so slightly closer to Makoto, more out of habit than anything else.

"I would really like to learn more about the way children's minds process things," Makoto is saying with a smile. "Maybe it'll help me understand them a bit more when I teach them."

"You understand them well enough now," Haru points out. "You're already a great coach for children." Something brushes over his back again, a little lower, at the same time that Makoto laughs, his eyes crinkling up.

"Thank you, Haru," he says warmly. "But I think learning more will help. It can't hurt, right?"

"Right," says Haru, as something brushes against him, even lower this time, closer to his behind. Annoyance passes across his face, which Makoto notices immediately.

"Haru?" he asks, his brow furrowing, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Haru says stiffly, and he's not sure Makoto buys it; his best friend gives him a curious look, but he lets it go, because he's never pushed Haru to talk about anything before, his endless patience allowing for him to let Haru talk about things on his own time. It's a trait Haru much appreciates, because out of all their friends, Makoto has never pressured Haru into anything. Makoto starts talking about his psychology class again, but Haru is now definitely certain that whatever is brushing against him is doing it on purpose, because it touches his backside a little more firmly.

Someone seriously cannot be feeling him up on a _train._ This is not one of Nagisa's shoujo mangas. That sort of thing doesn't happen in real life, not really. But as Haru tries to convince himself of this, something flat, heavy and warm presses fully against his behind - the palm of someone's hand, squeezing tightly.

Haru jumps, knocking into a startled Makoto, and twists around as shivers of disgust ripple up and down his spine. The perpetrator is immediately discernible - a young man in a suit, surprisingly looking as though he's only a few years older than Haru, with dark hair and pale eyes; and he looks, not guilty as Haru expected, but somewhat amused instead, the edges of a smirk touching his lips.

"Haru?"

Makoto sounds concerned, worried. A scowl deepens Haru's expression, and he says nothing at all, a wordless glare directed at the man. A hand touches his arm gently, lightly; it takes Haru a moment to realize that it's Makoto's, his best friend passing a confused look from Haru to the man, trying to figure out what the matter is. There's hardly enough space between all three of them for Haru's liking; he can feel Makoto's broad chest against his back, which is distracting, and the man who just groped him is only a few inches away, the train car too crowded for more distance.

"Don't touch me," Haru says flatly, and the hand on his arm twitches as Makoto almost removes it. But then it seems like he's realized that it's not him Haru is talking to, and Makoto's fingers curl a little more tightly.

The man laughs, clearly unapologetic. "Just thought you'd appreciate the compliment," he says with a cold smile. "You're very pretty, you know. And you're all over the newspapers, so it wasn't that hard to recognize you as the famous swimmer _Haruka Nanase._ I couldn't pass up the opportunity to get to know you a little better, could I? Those eyes of yours," He licks his lips suggestively. "They're like diamonds. Those photos don't do you justice, you know, especially not to your more... _appealing_ assets."

The way he says it makes Haru's skin crawl, like something slimy and gross has just slipped across it. Haru has never hit anyone before in his life, but he's debating on that right now, anger boiling in his gut, fierce and nauseating. Fortunately, however, he's saved the hassle of figuring out just what to do by a strong arm wrapping itself around his torso, pulling him backwards.

"Excuse us," says Makoto, and his voice is unlike anything Haru has ever heard before coming from Makoto; it's icy and flat, and though Haru can't see his face, he's not so sure what he expects to see if he could. 

The next second he's being hauled through a crowd of people - the air seems to thicken for a moment as everything and everyone press in on him, and then he's out in the open, and the arm around his chest has fallen away, Makoto's hand sliding down Haru's arm to grasp his wrist firmly and pull him several more feet away from the train. Haru can see the man still on it, surrounded by commuters, and for a split second their eyes meet -

\- and then he's gone, and he and Makoto are standing on the platform as the train - and the man - zoom away, disappearing into the tunnel.

For a second, neither of them speak, and then Makoto says, in a low, worried voice, 

"Haru? You okay?"

It takes him another minute to respond, but then he nods, slowly, easing out a breath he hasn't realized he's been holding. "I'm fine," he says automatically, which isn't quite true, but the normalcy of the answer makes Makoto relax slightly, the pressure of his fingers easing away from Haru's wrist. Haru dares to look up at him now; Makoto's face is flushed red still, and his shoulders seem stiff, but otherwise he's the same old Makoto, with a kindness and a concern for Haru's well-being that makes his heart ache. The expression on Makoto's face isn't anger, but imploring, as though he is desperate that the answer be the right one.

"...just an idiot, Makoto," Haru says quietly, and he sees the tension ebbing physically away, though it doesn't disappear entirely, and Makoto nods.

They walk the rest of the way back to Makoto's apartment, which takes about fifteen minutes, since they've gotten off a full stop before their usual one. It's spent in silence, and not a comfortable one like both of them are used to, but a slightly strained, tense one instead. Haru wants to bathe immediately; he can still feel the hand on him, can still see the hungry eyes of the man and it makes him want to throw up. He picks up the pace and walks a little closer to Makoto, their shoulders brushing against one another's every now and then. Makoto does not pull away.

When they reach the apartment, Makoto immediately turns and locks the door and then leans his forehead against it, a breath escaping past his lips. Haru turns to look at him, still standing in the entryway, and then reaches out a tentative hand, allowing himself to rest it lightly on one of Makoto's shoulders.

"It's all right," he says, and Makoto straightens, turning around to look at him. He eases out a sigh and then finally smiles. 

"As long as you're okay," he says, and Haru feels his heart clench. For a moment neither of them speak; they're standing there, barely a few inches from each other, and the air between them is suddenly thick with everything unsaid. Haru wants to tilt forward, sink into Makoto's embrace, stay there until the man and the train are nothing but a distant memory. He wants to burrow into the familiarity that is Makoto Tachibana, and he wants to wrap it around himself like a cocoon and let it obliterate all of the thoughts that are bad and unpleasant.

Except he doesn't. He can't.

Makoto is the one that breaks the connection first.

"Go ahead and take a bath first," he says, and even though Haru hasn't said anything at all about bathing, he hasn't needed to. Makoto gives him another hesitant smile and pats his shoulder, nodding in the direction of the washroom. 

Haru nods. The warmth of Makoto's hand is fleeting as it slips away from his shoulder, Makoto moving towards the kitchen to make something, probably tea. Haru watches him for a long moment, at the broad shoulders and the strong back, and then he steps past into the hallway and disappears into the bathroom.

Maybe if he scrubs hard enough, everything that happened on the train will disappear and only Makoto will remain.


	3. Bury Me in Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He feels a little bittersweet twinge just saying it, because it's true; their last few months of being in Iwatobi had been spent all together, and it's been a difficult adjustment to go from seeing people all the time to seeing them only over a computer screen. The homesickness has been mostly abated ever since Haru's unexpected - and extremely welcome - arrival in Tokyo, but Makoto still misses everyone back in Iwatobi - and in Rin's case, Australia - quite a bit. Nagisa's enthusiasm, Rei's levelheadedness...it's just what Makoto needs right now.

Makoto can hear the sound of the water running in the bathroom, and somehow this grounds him.

He's still standing in the front entryway, even though he should probably get an early dinner started so that they can call everyone later, but that's the last thing on his mind right now. All he can see inside of his head is the lecherous smirk of the man on the train and the flushed, angry expression on Haru's face, the swell of fear that had risen inside of Makoto's throat as he'd (belatedly) realized what was happening. Haru already has issues with people touching him too much - which makes this whole scenario just that much _worse._

The sound of the water stops; this drags Makoto out of his thoughts, and he casts a glance towards the washroom, but there is only silence. The tub must be filled enough for Haru to sit in, and Makoto hopes for dear life that it reassures him, that it comforts him; that Haru will be able to sink beneath the surface of his favorite water and let it surrounded him and cleanse his body and his mind. As long as he doesn't fall asleep in the tub, he can stay there as long as he needs to get his bearings again, and in the meantime Makoto will wait patiently, as he always does.

He tries to distract himself by sitting at the kotatsu in the middle of the living area and flipping open his psychology textbook to study. But the words slur together, jumbling and leaping off the page, and Makoto reads the same sentence three times before he realizes that he's not going to get very far today. He is too tense with concern and anxiety, and he lifts a hand, runs his fingers through his hair and eases out a slightly shaking breath. His fingers nudge his glasses, and Makoto pulls them off, laying them to rest atop of his notebook as he rubs his eyes, trying to dispel the headache beginning to form.

Laughter echoes in his ears - horrible, cold laughter, and smirking eyes. The man's face swims into Makoto's vision again and he tries desperately to battle it off; except the guilt of not being able to help Haru, of not understanding until it was too late, eats away at his thoughts, sinks into his brain. Haru is no damsel in distress - he's certainly able to take care of himself, and Makoto knows this, but this situation is different. Perhaps if he'd gotten there earlier, perhaps if he'd just _seen_ what was happening before it happened and not have babbled on about his classes, Haru would not be trying to scrub away the vile touch of an unknown man.

It's not that Makoto wanted to defend Haru so much as he wants to comfort him. His love for his best friend makes everything harder, because Makoto can't just grab Haru anytime he wants. They are not the touchy-feely sort of friends; they barely even hug, and their gestures of affection are limited to shoulder bumps and gentle nudges to the side. Sometimes one or the other will fall asleep with their head on the other's shoulder, but Makoto can count the number of times they've actually embraced on one hand (and _embrace_ is a loose word, because 99% of the time it was Makoto putting his arm around Haru and squeezing awkwardly while Haru just stood there as stoically as ever). 

But if there is any time that Makoto wishes he could show Haru how he feels, it's now.

 _It's not even that big of a deal,_ Makoto tells himself, as he leans his head against the palm of his hand. _It's just this one time. It's not like he did anything too drastic._

He's making excuses. He's _reasoning._ It's still a terrible violation, no matter how small; there is no excuse for that sort of behavior, and the anger that Makoto had felt when he'd heard what the man had to say was awful, unfamiliar, nauseating. Makoto can still taste some of the rage on his tongue, and suddenly he needs a drink, his mouth dry. He drags himself to his feet and makes his way to the kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinets until he finds a cup, and then he fills it with water from the sink, taking a long swallow and closing his eyes briefly. He needs to relax. He needs to be calm and collected, for Haru's sake.

"Makoto."

He turns so quickly he nearly jostles the glass in his hand. Haru's voice is slightly muffled; he hasn't come out of the washroom yet, and Makoto swallows, gulping down the rest of his water and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before setting down the cup. He moves towards the washroom and taps lightly on the side of the door frame with his knuckles.

"Haru? You okay?"

There's a slight pause, and then,

"Makoto."

That's it, just his name. Makoto can feel his chest tightening. He takes a deep breath and says, "Excuse me," before brushing aside the cloth and stepping cautiously in.

Haru sits in the small tub, his legs drawn up almost to his chest. He's wearing his jammers, as usual, but the rest of him is bare, and he's sunk down so low that his nose is nearly level with his knees. His dark hair is plastered wetly to his forehead, and there is a washcloth in one of his hands, clenched between his slender fingers. Haru looks somewhat distressed, red painted across his cheeks, and as Makoto appears, he looks up, blinking rapidly.

"I need...help," he mumbles, looking embarrassed, and it takes Makoto only a moment to realize what he means. Shoulders relaxing a little, he moves towards the tub and carefully sinks down to his knees at the head of it, behind where Haru is leaning, and pushes up the sleeves of his shirt. He reaches out and gently extracts the cloth from Haru's fingers - it takes a minute for him to let go - before Makoto prods at his best friend's bare shoulders lightly. Haru complies easily and without a word, easing himself up so that he's no longer leaning against the bathtub. He wraps his arms around his legs and presses his forehead to his knees, curled up tightly.

Makoto takes his time, dabbing soap into the cloth and running it carefully between Haru's shoulder blades. He's not as tall, nor as muscular as Makoto is, but Haru has always had a certain grace about him, a certain sophistication and elegance to his form that has yet to be matched. It's partly why he's so breathtaking, at least to Makoto; part of why he can never seem to look away when Haru is swimming. His neck is bent, hair parted at the nape so that it falls wetly on either side of Haru's face, and the very tips of Makoto's fingers brush against the dark locks before they move downward, Makoto sweeping the washcloth up and down Haru's back in stronger, more deliberate strokes. The urge to lean forward and press his lips against the spot where the back of Haru's neck meets his torso is almost overwhelming; and, in fact, Makoto tilts slightly forward, his heart hammering in his chest, his face mere inches away from Haru -

"...I don't want that to happen again."

Makoto jerks backwards, almost dropping the washcloth. His cheeks are flushed with embarrassment and something else, something he doesn't want to name yet, because now is not the time, and what was he _thinking?_ Fortunately, however, Haru does not notice, and he lives his head slowly, craning his neck to see over his shoulder. Makoto shifts so that he's no longer fully behind the tub, but on the side of it instead.

"What happened on the train," says Haru, but it doesn't need clarifying. Makoto's fingers tighten on the washcloth, his other hand on the rim of the tub to hold himself steady, and he lets out a sigh, shaking his head.

"Me either, Haru," Makoto says quietly. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For..." Makoto flounders a little, his face still red. "For not protecting you like I should have. I'm sorry, Haru."

Haru's expression is inscrutable. "You don't have to be sorry, Makoto. It's not your fault."

He wants to say it is, even though that's ridiculous, because it's not his fault, and it's not Haru's fault. The only thing that's Makoto's fault is the fact that he's in love with Haru and that he wants very much to reach out and hug him, to drag him into his chest and keep him safe and sound, away from all the bad things of the world. The hand with the towel reaches out, and Makoto very gently dabs it alongside of Haru's face, wiping at his flushed brow.

"I'm still sorry," he says softly. "I wish it hadn't happened."

Haru is looking straight at him, and his gaze is so intense that it's almost unnerving. Makoto feels his heartbeat speed up rapidly even as the rest of the world seems to slow down, and it's just the two of them and no one else. It could be his imagination, it could be his most desperate, hidden desires coming to light, but it almost seems like Haru is leaning forward towards him - but the look in his eyes is pained, tainted by the experience on the train. Makoto's lashes flutter, and suddenly it's hard to breathe, suddenly it's hard to even _think._ His throat feels dry, and he wants so badly for the afternoon not to have happened, he just wants Haru to be _okay -_

"H - "

A loud ringing noise comes from the living room, startling both of them. Makoto jumps, dropping the washcloth this time. It splashes into the tub, and he pulls away from Haru, standing abruptly to his feet. "Excuse me," he says quickly, and hurries into the other room, dropping down to the kotatsu again and tapping on a key of his laptop several times until the screen comes to life. He hits a few more buttons, and then Nagisa's beaming face comes into view, followed closely by that of Rei's, the latter of which who looks immensely relieved about something.

"Mako-chan!" Nagisa cries joyfully. "Mako-chan, hi!"

"Hello, Makoto-senpai!" Rei chimes in, nudging his glasses up his nose, and Makoto can feel himself relaxing, some of the stiffness in his joints easing a little bit. This sort of thing is silly and familiar, and it's a wonderful distraction from the earlier events. 

"Hey, guys," he says with a light laugh as he crosses his legs and gets himself more comfortable. He can feel his heart beginning to settle into a less erratic rhythm now, and Makoto reaches for one of the throw pillows on the couch, tucking it against his stomach and wrapping his arms around it. "How are you? How is the swim club? Did you guys win your last match?"

"We _killed_ them!" Nagisa crows, a glint of mischief flashing in his eyes, and Rei looks mildly taken aback by this as he says, "Nagisa-kun, that's not really - "

"We were losing in he second half of he heat, and then the butterfly was up, and Rei-chan just _soared_ in front of them, he and Shima-chan - that's one of the new first years - just took off, and they kicked some _serious_ butt. And then Sonamaru-chan did the backstroke, and he's not as good as you, Mako-chan, of course, but he still just flew through that heat, and _boom!_ we were suddenly in the lead again and..."

Rei is blushing at the praise being heaped upon him, but he looks pleased, and Makoto is perfectly happy to let the two of them talk incessantly (or rather, Nagisa), because it's just something _normal_ that he can focus on. He's distantly aware of faint splashing noises emanating from the washroom, which means Haru is either getting out or he's still washing, and Makoto hugs the pillow a little more tightly to his midsection. He hopes nothing registers on his face, but Rei is surprisingly shrewd when it comes to noticing things, and Makoto has always been a terrible liar.

"...and then of course, we had our freestyle swimmers up, and they're no Haru-chans, but they did pretty well, and so we won!" Nagisa finishes, clapping his hands together. Makoto lets out a genuine laugh of pleasure and says, "Well, I'm glad that you guys did so well, we really miss swimming with you."

He feels a little bittersweet twinge just saying it, because it's true; their last few months of being in Iwatobi had been spent all together, and it's been a difficult adjustment to go from seeing people all the time to seeing them only over a computer screen. The homesickness has been mostly abated ever since Haru's unexpected - and extremely welcome - arrival in Tokyo, but Makoto still misses everyone back in Iwatobi - and in Rin's case, Australia - quite a bit. Nagisa's enthusiasm, Rei's levelheadedness...it's just what Makoto needs right now.

"Where's Haru-chan?" Nagisa asks, peering through the camera as though he can somehow look behind Makoto and see. "Is he over there yet?"

"He's here," Makoto says with a smile. "He's just in the bath."

This does not surprise anyone. Rei and Nagisa both exchange delighted looks before Nagisa says happily, "That's our Haru-chan!"

 _Except this time Haru is not bathing because he wants to, he's bathing because he's trying to erase the tainted memories from his skin,_ Makoto thinks, and his chest aches, his fingers clenching on the pillow he holds. This time it's not something silly and normal like Haru stripping down as soon as he walks into a place with a pool and leaping in before anyone can stop him; this time it's serious, and this time it's painful. Makoto doesn't want to think about it, but at the same time he knows that avoiding things is never a good idea.

Things don't go away just because you ignore them, otherwise he would have stopped being in love with Haru a long time ago.

"Ah!" Rei says suddenly, startling Makoto out of his thoughts. "Haruka-senpai!"

Makoto twists around, and sure enough, Haru is standing there, his hair still damp, a towel wrapped around his neck. He's changed into one of Makoto's shirts - a blue and white one that drapes halfway down his thighs that he's clearly fetched out of the clean laundry basket in the washroom, and a pair of shorts, in spite of it being only four-thirty and freezing outside. 

Haru eases himself down on his knees beside Makoto, their shoulders brushing against each other, and says quietly, "Good afternoon."

"Haru-channnnn!" Nagisa yells happily, and Rei winces. _"Indoor voice, Nagisa-kun, please."_ It seems to be almost a mantra, like this isn't the first time he's said it today, and Makoto is under the sneaking suspicion that this is probably the third or fourth time.

Haru says nothing - as usual - but this doesn't deter Nagisa and Rei, thankfully. They talk for another ten minutes about the swim club, but Makoto is only half listening, because he's much more acutely aware of Haru's presence than he normally is. The worry and the anxiety from earlier has seeped into his heart, and they are sitting so close together that every time Haru moves, his shoulder or his arm touches Makoto's.

"What are you plans for this weekend, Makoto-senpai, Haruka-senpai?" Rei asks, and Makoto smiles a little, glancing at Haru.

There's a slight pause. Haru looks away.

"We're going to the beach," Makoto supplies, and Rei chuckles as Nagisa shouts something about wanting to go to the beach too. "It's been really cold here, but there's a section of beach that's more secluded than the rest, and sometimes it's a little warmer, so even if we can't swim, we can at least take a walk along the sand. We can pick up some seashells and then have seafood for dinner, eh, Haru?" he asks, and Haru is still looking away as he mumbles something, the words _swim_ and _free_ clearly audible. It's so very _Haru_ that Makoto deliberately knocks his shoulder into Haru's, and when Haru looks up at him, a little startled, Makoto just smiles warmly at him, feeling his face flush a little.

And finally, for the first time all day, the edges of a small smile touch Haru's lips. Just barely there, faint and hardly visible, but _there._

He doesn't notice Rei looking at them both, something flickering across his gaze.

Their conversation with Rei and Nagisa lasts another hour before they finally say all their goodbyes. By then it's closer to six, so Haru heads to the kitchen to make dinner. Makoto supposes that it's bad manners, having his guest be the one to cook, but Haru is a much better cook than Makoto will ever be, and besides, he wants Haru to have something to focus on. They eat their hot pot at the kotatsu and watch a program about deep sea creatures that has Makoto squawking in fright by the end of it, his face buried in one of the throw pillows. After that, Makoto works on some homework so that he doesn't have to worry about it over the weekend, and Haru reads a book about the history of oceans, which should be boring, but isn't to him.

At around ten, Makoto looks up and stretches, extending one arm above his head and popping some of his joints. He closes his textbook with relief, shoving papers inside of it, and twists around.

"Haru, I think it's - "

But then he stops talking, because Haru has fallen asleep already, stretched out on the couch with the book facedown on his chest. His head is turned towards the back of the couch, one arm draped over his stomach, the other falling over the edge, and the thin blanket Makoto keeps in the living room is tangled about his legs. Makoto watches him for a few minutes, watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, and he swallows hard, exhaling a breath. It's moments like these - quiet, simple moments like these - that he is so painfully aware of his feelings for Haru that sometimes it makes his heart ache.

Makoto climbs to his feet and walks over to the couch. He bends down, his fingers careful as they touch Haru's shoulder.

"Haru," he says softly, "Haru, at least sleep in the bedroom, it's more comfortable."

Haru stirs, his brow flickering, and then he blinks blearily up at Makoto, still looking half asleep as he mumbles a noncommittal noise. Makoto reaches out and takes the book, setting it on the table, and then he reaches for Haru's hand, letting his fingers wrap around his, tugging gently. Haru is like a kitten or a child when he's sleepy, and he slides bonelessly off of the couch and stands on somewhat unsteady feet, looking a little lost. Makoto pulls a little on their combined hands, and Haru falls into step behind him, rubbing at his eyes.

In the bedroom, Haru sways slightly, but he's easy to nudge into his futon, sliding down under the covers that Makoto pulls up around him. Makoto hasn't changed into his pajamas, but as he goes to let go and do this, Haru's fingers grip his, refusing to yield. A jolt shivers up and down Makoto's spine, his breath leaving him quickly, and Haru still looks half asleep, his eyes mostly shut; but there is the smallest stripe of brightest blue still visible in the dark, and he's looking up at Makoto without saying anything at all.

Wordlessly, Makoto eases himself down into his own futon, Haru's refusal to let go of his hand making things a little difficult; then he's lying down on his side facing his best friend, and Haru twists over to look at him, his expression inscrutable. But Makoto can feel the way that Haru's fingers are shaking, and maybe he's not over it yet, maybe he's still remembering what happened on the train, and Haru's never been good at expressing himself the way that others can, but he's never needed to either, because Makoto can read him anyway, because before he was in love with Haru, he loved him as a best friend anyway.

"It's okay, Haru-chan," he says softly, and shifts his hand, sliding their palms against one another and interlacing their fingers in a gesture he never thought he'd do; but it's not romantic, it's not the idealistic picture of adoration, it's a comfort, a desperate desire for Haru to understand that he's not alone. Makoto squeezes reassuringly, and they haven't held hands since they were children, haven't had this much contact in years, if ever. It's almost overwhelming, the desire to just give in and spill everything about how he feels, but he can't and he won't, instead focusing on the shuddering sigh that Haru lets out, his eyes finally closing.

Neither one of them says anything at all for the rest of the night, and eventually they both drift off into sleep, Makoto's fingers still entwined with Haru's.

He dreams of warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me @ weasleyswizardwheezings.tumblr.com!


	4. The Sharks Are Circling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh. Well, then he's probably just some shitty ass businessman who hates his job and was just looking to have some fun. Either way, don't let it get to you, Haru. You're like, way better than he is any day. I bet he can't even swim free without needing fucking floaties."

Haru does not dream of warmth. 

Haru dreams of cold; an icy cold that builds in his chest, slides through his veins, until every part of him feels frozen in place. He's at the starting block, and the whistle is about to blow, but he can't move, and beside him Rin laughs, his teeth flashing white in a sea of color and he wants to move away, wants to let go of the block and dive into the crystalline water and let it smooth across his skin, and instead he just crouches there, bent over with his goggles over his eyes, and he can't move, he's stuck, and the cold is getting stronger and then - 

He wakes with a start, jolting his eyes open. It takes him a minute for his gaze to adjust, and then Haru sees that he's still lying on the futon in Makoto's room. It's still dark outside; there isn't any light streaming in through the blinds except for a pale, watery yellow from the streetlight just outside, and even then, it's hardly discernible. The room feels a little thick, whether from the heavy blanket of night or the remnants of his own thoughts, Haru isn't sure. He blinks rapidly, lashes sticky from sleep, and tries to wipe away some of the tiredness from his blurred vision.

On his side, he can make out the faint silhouette of Makoto's broad shoulders and torso. Haru only half remembers what transpired during the evening; he knows he fell asleep on the couch while reading, knows that he was woken a short while later by a warm hand touching his own. He remembers walking into the bedroom and being tucked down into his own futon, but it's kind of a mess of emotions and feelings, less actual visual memories. Gentleness and fear mingled together, confusion and neediness, and a tender touch of fingers against the palm of his hand.

Haru looks down. Makoto is mostly on his back, but not entirely, still tilted slightly in Haru's direction. One arm is draped across his stomach, as usual, but the other arm is stretched out towards Haru, his fingers mere inches from where Haru's lies still in the small space between them. If he moves just a little bit, barely an inch or two, he'd be able to twine them together.

He fell asleep holding Makoto's hand. He remembers this, but it's a fuzzy memory, like a dream instead of a reality. Haru's face flushes as he stares at the hand next to him, and he has a terrible desire to reach out and grasp it again, to feel the strong fingers around his own smaller ones, to have something physical to hold onto - a tangible _something_ to focus on, other than his terrible dreams and the terrible events of the day before. He wants to close the short few inches between them, like he almost did in the washroom earlier, to breathe in Makoto's breath and let it fill his lungs.

But he doesn't, as usual, and Haru spends the rest of the night watching Makoto until he falls asleep again, and this time he doesn't dream at all.

 

* * * * * * 

 

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You look terrible."

 _Tactful, as always,_ Haru thinks. "I didn't sleep well."

He rubs at his eyes again. Makoto's laptop sits on the table in front of him where Haru sits on the couch, one leg drawn up to his chest, his fingers laced around his ankle. Rin's smirking face is visible on the screen of the computer, his dark red hair pulled back into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck; and by the looks of it, he's in some sort of hotel room somewhere. There are two beds behind him, beige curtains drawn across a window in the back, and a suitcase sits on the floor, half open, with clothes spilling out of it.

"Where are you?" Haru asks.

"Melbourne," Rin answers, casting a glance over his shoulder before he looks back at the camera. "We had a meet here yesterday, but today's just for sightseeing before we leave tomorrow back to Sydney. Driving took all fucking day, I tried to sleep through most of it, but everyone was so fucking noisy. Sousuke wound up telling everyone that if they didn't shut up then they'd have to do extra laps after the meet."

Haru makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. He still doesn't really _get_ Sousuke, other than the fact that he puts Rin's priorities before anything else, and they never really had a proper conversation after Sousuke's angry outburst at the pool that one time. It means neither of them got any closure from it, but Haru supposes he doesn't really mind. It's all in the past now, and Sousuke clearly cares about Rin's well-being enough that Haru doesn't hold a grudge, especially since with Sousuke having gone to Australia to make sure Rin isn't alone. He seems to have mellowed out ever since he stopped swimming competitively, which makes things a lot easier to work with.

"So what's up with you, then?" Rin asks, and Haru looks away, a faint scowl touching his lips. He can hear Rin snort.

"Don't you make that face at me, Haruka Nanase, I know you. What's the deal with not sleeping well? You have another fight with Makoto or something?"

 _"No,"_ says Haru, eyes moving back to Rin's. "Of course not."

In fact, it's kind of the opposite. _I'm kind of in love with him,_ Haru thinks, but he doesn't say it out loud, because telling Rin that would be a _colossally_ bad idea. Not because he doesn't trust Rin, but well, he doesn't trust Rin not to make fun of him or roll his eyes or tell him that he's being an idiot. Which he kind of is, but that's definitely beside the point.

"Then what's the matter?" Rin asks, none-too-patiently, and Haru is sincerely glad that Makoto is taking a shower. He glances over his shoulder before a resigned sigh escapes past his lips.

"There was..." He struggles for the right words. "this...man. On the train."

Rin just stares at him. "Uh huh," he says slowly, clearly not getting it. "Haru, there are a lot of men on the train. That's kind of what they're there for."

Haru flushes, both with annoyance and embarrassment. "Shut up, idiot. I mean...there was this guy that..."

He feels tongue-tied and flustered. It's one thing to be around Makoto, because words aren't even necessary to communicate with Makoto; Makoto will understand him without Haru needing to speak aloud, and last night was spent mostly with Makoto doing the talking for him. Rin is especially difficult because he's just so... _bright._ He's passionate about everything, and he is vibrant with everything he says; the total opposite of Haru, who has trouble with even the most basic things. 

"There was this guy." says Haru, and Rin is still staring. "He. Um."

His mouth opens and closes, and then he says, or mutters, really, "He...touched..."

And that's all he manages to get out before he clams up again. Rin is somewhat flummoxed by this, and takes a minute to process it; but when he does, it's like a lightbulb has gone off in his head, and he snaps his fingers together. The realization comes first, and the incredulity comes a second later, his eyes widening.

 _"Seriously?_ Haru, what the fuck, you haven't been reading one of Nagisa's mangas again have you, because if so - "

 _"No,"_ Haru snaps. "Jeez." He's starting to regret this.

Rin settles back into his chair, shaking his head slowly. "Fuck. That's some messed up shit right there, then. Another dude felt you up?"

That's more of the reaction he was looking for; less surprise and more supportive, though "supportive" for Rin means less placating statements and more not making fun of the situation. "Yes," says Haru, and he feels his skin crawling just thinking about it, feels the slimy weight of the man's hand, a shudder of revulsion shivering up and down his spine at the memory. "It was..."

A pause. "Awful, I expect," Rin supplies, and Haru's eyes express a small amount of gratitude even if his face doesn't. "Jeez, Haru, that sucks. Did you report the fucker?"

Haru shakes his head slowly. "Wasn't time. Makoto pulled me away."

"Good for Makoto, then," says Rin approvingly, nodding his head so that a few strands of red hair fall into his face. 

"He was angry," says Haru quietly, and Rin glances at him.

"Makoto? _Angry?"_ he says, letting out a low whistle. "Jeez. I can't remember the last time I saw Makoto Tachibana actually _angry_ at anything. He's so calm and collected all the time, sometimes it pisses me off."

Haru very much recalls the scene on the bridge when Makoto first told him he was going to Tokyo, but he hadn't been _angry_ then, not really. It had been more of a frustration, a desperate desire for Haru to understand and to talk to him, but Haru had run away and left him standing there as the fireworks had exploded over their heads. He's still ashamed of his behavior back then, even after all this time.

"What..." says Haru, and Rin blinks at him. "What do I..."

"What do you...what," says Rin. "What do you do?" He shrugs, cricking his neck to the side and then back again. "You keep moving. You can't let one slimy fucker on the train keep you from doing things, Haru. Jeez. He's just an asshole who probably spends all of his time sitting in the basement of some skeevy ass place and watching dirty movies and wishing he had a life."

"I don't think so," Haru mumbles, "He was wearing a suit."

"Oh. Well, then he's probably just some shitty ass businessman who hates his job and was just looking to have some fun. Either way, don't let it get to you, Haru. You're like, way better than he is any day. I bet he can't even swim _free_ without needing fucking floaties."

At this, Haru lets out a snort and finally looks back up at Rin, who is smirking at him, and in spite of his outlandish attitude, Rin is actually trying to cheer him up, which is kind of nice, in a roundabout way. Rin may be a lot of things, but in this case, his bluntness and lack of shame when it comes to certain aspects makes it easy to talk to him, and Haru appreciates the attempts at comforting him. 

"He doesn't even deserve to swim free," Haru informs him, and Rin lets out a bark of laughter, snorting as a voice behind Haru says, "Ah! You're already talking, Haru!"

Makoto has come out of the washroom, rubbing his damp hair with a towel. He drops down to the couch beside Haru, a little too close, so that their legs brush together, knees knocking against one another. "I thought you were going to wait for me," Makoto says, a hint of a whine in his voice, and Haru just looks at him, resisting the urge to lean closer.

"Rin is impatient," he says flatly, and Makoto laughs as Rin makes an outraged expression.

"Excuse me, assholes, I wanted to talk before I went out," he says indignantly, but there is a grin tugging at his mouth. "Yo, Makoto!"

"Hello, Rin!" says Makoto, looking happy, and Haru drags his gaze away from his best friend and tries to focus on Rin. "How is Australia?"

"Hot," says Rin, rolling his eyes. "Loud. Noisy. Crazy. I barely sleep at all anymore."

"But you love it," says Makoto with a smile. "Right?"

"Fuck yeah, I do," says Rin with a grin. "Best time I've had in a long time, 'cept for that sakura pool party we had before we all left. The competition's getting a little more heated now, but we've got about a two-week break before we have to start on the heavy practices again, our coach is giving us a little leeway over the next little while, so I can breathe more easily."

"I'm glad to hear that," says Makoto, and Haru is perfectly content with letting him take over the conversation from now on. Talking is a tedious affair, and he is grateful that Makoto is there to continue it, because in spite of feeling a little more at ease, thanks to Rin, Haru is about at his limit for the amount of social interaction he has to do for the day - at least with people other than Makoto.

"How's Sousuke?" Makoto asks, and Rin rolls his eyes.

"He's the same as ever," he says with a snort. "Overprotective bastard. Coach Jules says he's the best manager she's had in a while, but she exaggerates a lot."

The note of fondness in Rin's voice, however, as well as the pleased expression on his face, is undeniable. Rin may complain a great deal about things, but the truth of the matter is, they all know he's thrilled Sousuke is with him. Rin's departure to Australia was harder than the others because he was going on his own, or at least he'd thought he'd been. Sousuke had almost done the same thing as Haru had; he'd called Rin out of the blue two weeks after he'd left and said he'd been hired on as his new swim team manager, and then a week later, he'd been in Australia with him.

Haru dimly wonders if Sousuke chose to go to Australia for the same reason that Haru chose to go to Tokyo, but he doesn't know Sousuke well enough to think too much on it, so he pushes the thoughts out of his head. 

They talk about nonsensical things for the next few minutes, but Haru is only half paying attention, acutely aware that Makoto's leg is pressing lightly against his own, and that he smells like soap and fresh water from the shower. He can't stop himself from looking over every few minutes, his eyes running over Makoto's features - the happy smile on his face, the way his eyes crinkle up when he's pleased about something, the faint touch of pink to his cheeks when he laughs. It all makes the room seem like it has less air in it somehow, and Haru shifts a little, training his eyes back to the laptop screen.

"Anyway," Rin is saying, with a shake of his head. "We're gonna go out and grab some food, so I better get going."

"Okay!" says Makoto, and gives a little wave of his hand. "Same time next week, Rin?"

"You got it," says Rin, and flashes them a grin, his hand raised so that two of his fingers form a V sign. "Peace out, bitches - oh, and Haru, about what I said before - seriously, don't think about it too much; like I said, you're way better than that bastard anyway."

And then the screen clicks off. Makoto reaches out and closes the laptop, leaning back on the couch. Both of them are silent for a few minutes; Haru picks at his sock, his gaze deliberately focused down on the ground to avoid Makoto seeing how red his face is. He can't seem to settle his heart, or the way his emotions seem to toy with him, roller coasting him one way and then the other, without any time to ground himself. Half of him wants to retreat in on himself, to not think about anything at all except water and peace and quiet, but the other half of him wants to curl up beside Makoto, bury his face in the crook of his neck and breathe in his scent. He wants to touch him but he doesn't want to be touched. He wants to talk, but he doesn't want to talk. Everything about Haru feels like a contradiction, as though two halves of him are warring with one another, until he doesn't know which way is up and which way is down anymore. Talking with Rin had been reassuring, familiar; but now Haru feels awkward and uncertain again.

"Haru?" Makoto asks, and he can feel a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. After a minute the hand pats him and then slides away; Haru misses the warmth of it immediately.

"Do you want some lunch?" Makoto says, pushing himself up off the couch, and Haru can feel the rush of displaced air rustle against him. "We could go get something, if you'd like."

There's a long pause, and then Haru mumbles, barely audible, "Beach."

"You want to go to the beach, Haru?" Makoto tilts his head to look at him, and Haru finally lifts his gaze. Makoto's expression is a kind one, and Haru nods slowly, pressing his lips together as Makoto's smile grows.

"Okay, Haru-chan," he says. "Let's go to the beach."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always imagine Rin swears a lot...
> 
> Also come visit me at @ weasleyswizardwheezings.tumblr.com !


	5. Message in a Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru doesn't need to see that side of him, especially not now; and especially not if Makoto wants to keep their friendship the way it is. If he's being entirely honest with himself, that's the majority of why he hasn't yet confessed, hasn't even hinted - he's too afraid of losing Haru to explain all of his complicated, overemotional feelings, too afraid of pushing him away. Makoto can't bear the thought of Haru not being in his life, and so he's quietly accepted the fact that one day Haru will find someone and fall in love, and that it won't be Makoto, it'll be some girl who understands his quiet nature. And in the meantime, Makoto will stay by Haru's side for as long as he can.

The beach is not really where Makoto wants to go in the middle of the fall - especially when the kotatsu and the blankets in his apartment are so warm and inviting, and there is hot cocoa and tea and coffee all stocked up nicely in his cabinets - but Haru needs it, and Makoto _needs_ for Haru to be okay, so he takes him anyway. They bundle themselves up in thick sweaters and scarves (Makoto has to force Haru to remember a coat, practically pulling it on for him), and then they make their way towards the station just down the street from where Makoto lives.

Haru's steps seem to slow further and further the closer they get, however; and it's not until they are practically at the doors that Haru stops altogether. Makoto pauses with his hand on the metal handle and turns around, tilting his head at his best friend.

"Haru?"

Haru is looking straight ahead at the station, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, his scarf pulled up so that it half covers the lower part of his face. His expression is inscrutable, except for his eyes - they're flickering with some sort of strange, deep-rooted emotions that make Makoto's stomach twist with nervousness and worry; and his gloved fingers slide away from the handle until his arm drops to his side. He takes a step towards the other, eyebrows drawing together in concern.

"Haru, what's the matter?"

Haru glances away. In the late afternoon sunlight, his hair looks almost raven colored, hints of blue and black mingling together against the golden rays. It takes him a moment to respond, and then finally he says, in a muffled voice, "Let's walk."

And then he turns and starts walking fast, leaving a confused Makoto at the doors to the station. "Haru-chan!" he calls after him, flustered, and quickly picks up his steps, jogging lightly to reach the other, who is already several feet away. He slows down to match Haru's pace and looks at him, though Haru is determinedly staring forward; Makoto takes a look over his shoulder, back at the train station, and then at Haru again - and then it suddenly clicks _why._ Why he looked pained at having to take the train, why he had dragged his feet so much, why he would rather walk instead of ride.

He doesn't say anything, but some of the tension ebbs away from Makoto's shoulders, and the smile he gives his best friend is full of a tenderness that Haru will never see.

"It's a nice day, isn't it, Haru-chan?" he asks gently, and Haru nods.

They reach the beach within twenty minutes, and it's pretty much deserted. That's to be expected, and Makoto actually prefers it this way, because it means it's more private, and they can talk freely - and also because he know Haru will be more comfortable with less people around. The two of them walk along the shoreline, not too close to the water because the breeze that rifles through the air is icy cold, and the water is probably just as freezing. Haru gives the ocean a look of what can only be described as longing, and Makoto can't help but laugh, which makes Haru a little sulky, but it doesn't last very long.

It feels good to laugh, to not think about the events of the previous day. It's just the two of them here, and Makoto is reminded forcefully of his childhood, back in the days when it really _had_ been just him and Haru, all the time he'd spent over at the Nanase's and vice versa. Haru's parents knew Makoto as well as their own child, and Makoto's parents talked about Haru so much he might as well have been living with them all this time. And it's not that Makoto minds having more friends now (Rei, Nagisa, and Rin are all as close as family, and even Kisumi has his good points), but sometimes it's nice just to spend time with Haru on his own.

He's been fortunate, Makoto thinks, as he watches Haru move restlessly through the sand. Fortunate enough to be able to grow up practically next door to Haru, to spend the majority of his days side by side with him, to share their lives together the way they have. Even if he spends his entire life with one-sided feelings towards him, Makoto doesn't regret falling in love, and he doesn't regret being with Haru, even when he knows there's no chance of him returning his feelings. Regardless of how things turn out, the fact that he gets to stay with Haru is enough for him, and it makes his heart swell with even more adoration, if that's even possible.

Haru has crouched down in the sand, and Makoto walks around until he's in front of him, kneeling down with his hands on his knees. 

"What did you find?" he asks with a smile, and Haru shifts a little.

"Dunno," he says, "It was kinda shiny, so I was trying to take a closer look, but..."

He trails off, and Makoto looks down. There's something poking up out of the sand, but it's hard to tell what it is, exactly, except that when the light catches it at the right moment, it seems to glitter. Haru stretches out a hand and brushes over the top of it with long, slender fingers, and Makoto reaches to help, digging his own fingers down into the sand and pushing around, trying to work the object free, whatever it is.

They continue like this for several minutes, until they finally manage to loosen up the sand enough to tug it out, and when they do, Makoto lets out a small gasp, his eyes widening.

"Haru, look!"

It's an old bottle, the greenish glass stained in several places; but it's not so marred the paper ship inside of it is ripped. A few edges of it are stained, but the cork is firmly in place to keep it safe. It's not one of the fancy bottled ships seen in movies or television; this is clearly the work of a child or an inexperienced adult, because it's just an origami boat, really, but the creases and the folds are painstakingly made. It's obvious that whoever did it in the first place took great care to make it, and Makoto holds it on the tips of his fingers, as though it might break if he touches it too hard.

The two of them are silent for a moment, and then Makoto says softly, "Where do you think it came from?"

Haru gives a slow shake of his head, his eyes flickering sideways. "The ocean," he says, and it's such a Haru-like answer that Makoto can't help but smile. But then, after a moment's pause, Haru looks back at the little paper boat in the bottle, and continues.

"The water brought it," he says softly, and he runs his fingers delicately across the glass, barely skimming the surface. "Like it does with everything. It carried it through the wind and the waves and protected it, kept it safe and sound. It made sure it reached here safely, so that it could get to us."

Makoto is finding it suddenly, painfully hard to breathe. He can't seem to drag his eyes away from Haru, his calm, almost reverent voice dancing across Makoto's skin like a warm breeze, settling against his heart, which is beating so hard against his chest that he's afraid his ribs might break trying to contain it. The word _us_ catches especially, sinking into his thoughts, and even though it's a general use of the word, Makoto repeats it like a mantra inside of his head anyway, over and over again - _us, us, us, us._

Haru's hand rests on top of the bottle, stilling in its ministrations. "We must keep it safe now," he says sagely. "The ocean brought it to us, Makoto, we have to protect it."

He looks up and catches Makoto's gaze, and his eyes are so startlingly bright and blue that Makoto feels trapped by them. It should sound like a childish request, a silly one, but for some reason it doesn't at all.

"Makoto," says Haru insistently, and something brushes Makoto's hand. He jerks slightly, but doesn't look away, _can't_ look away, and then Haru's fingers are sliding over his, hesitantly and haltingly, and Makoto turns his hand upwards so that he can catch Haru's fingers and hold them still. Haru is looking at him with a strangely imploring expression on his face, an almost desperate one that is very unlike Haru, vaguely childlike. Makoto swallows hard, his throat dry, and if he thought breathing was hard before, it's next to impossible now. They're not even really holding hands, not in the real sense of the word; Makoto is more grasping onto Haru's fingers, but Haru seems unaffected by the physical contact, staring intently at Makoto, his gaze boring holes into him.

He manages to find his voice at last, Makoto dragging on one of his calm smiles that he usually directs at Haru.

"Of course, Haru-chan," he says, and gives Haru's fingers one last squeeze before letting go and pushing himself to his feet, brushing sand from the legs of his jeans. "We'll take it back to my place and keep it on the shelf in the living room, if that's what you want! And then you can take it home with you when you leave."

Though he tries not to think too much about Haru leaving. Even though they see each other every week, it still causes a pang of loneliness every time Haru goes back to his apartment by himself or Makoto back to his. Makoto tugs on the collar of his coat, slightly awkwardly; he tucks the bottle beneath one arm and stretches out his free hand towards Haru. It's the same gesture he does when Haru is in the pool or in the bath, and it feels so familiar that Makoto manages to relax a little, his shoulders falling slightly, the smile easing into a gentle one.

"Ready to go eat, Haru?" he asks, and Haru, who has been looking up at him silently this whole time, gives a small nod and reaches out, grasping Makoto's hand. He stands, and Makoto's wild imagination likes to believe that he held on for just a minute longer than strictly necessary; but then Haru tucks his hands into his pockets and the warmth at Makoto's palm is gone. He takes a deep breath, willing himself to be steadier, and reprimands himself internally for almost getting too caught up in the moment to see things clearly.

Haru doesn't need to see that side of him, especially not now; and especially not if Makoto wants to keep their friendship the way it is. If he's being entirely honest with himself, that's the majority of why he hasn't yet confessed, hasn't even hinted - he's too afraid of losing Haru to explain all of his complicated, overemotional feelings, too afraid of pushing him away. Makoto can't bear the thought of Haru not being in his life, and so he's quietly accepted the fact that one day Haru will find someone and fall in love, and that it won't be Makoto, it'll be some girl who understands his quiet nature. And in the meantime, Makoto will stay by Haru's side for as long as he can.

They take the bottle back to Makoto's apartment, where Haru spends the better portion of an hour wiping it clean and making sure it looks nice again. Makoto watches him the entire time, under the pretense of reading a book, and he can't help but wonder if there's something significant about this silly little thing they found, or whether it's just that - a silly little thing. Haru certainly seems to think that it's something precious, but Haru feels things differently than other people; he is complicated and passionate and emotional, though people rarely see the latter two. The passion is hidden behind layers of stoicism and the occasional annoyance for trivialities, but it's still there, and when it appears, it's dazzling. 

So maybe the bottle _is_ special, and they just don't realize it yet. And maybe it's not, but either way, Makoto breathes a sigh of relief because it means that Haru's mind is not on the train incident anymore. He has something _good_ to focus on instead.

The two of them eat at a little place down the street that Makoto likes to frequent when he doesn't feel like cooking - which is more often than not.

"Professor Shima told us that our next class gets to be at the pool," he tells Haru, skimming his chopsticks through his soup to find the leeks and stick them in Haru's bowl instead. "It's going to be a hands-on thing. We're each going to get paired off to work with a special needs child and teach them the basics of swimming."

"That's good," says Haru. He takes his bean sprouts and slides them effortlessly across to Makoto's plate, then piles the leeks onto his spoon. "How many people are in your class?"

"Just fifteen or so," Makoto answers, and smiles, picking up one of his small dishes in his fingers and tipping the contents of it over Haru's noodles. "It's a small class, but it's a good one. There are some really nice people in it, and I'm really looking forward to being able to work with the kids. It'll be like working at Coach Sasabe's again, though not quite - there won't be any pictures of us on the pool walls," he adds with a laugh.

Haru holds out his bowl and Makoto transfers the last of his mackerel over as Haru transfers the shrimp, chopsticks clicking together as Haru leans over the table. "When is your next class?" he asks, and Makoto swallows a mouthful of soup before answering.

"Next Thursday," he says. "It's a partial class, so half in a classroom and half out in the field, but this is the first time we actually get to be at a pool."

Haru is nodding slowly. Makoto watches him carefully, taking another bite of his noodles. Things are starting to feel back to normal again, and they are talking as they usually are, which is comforting to know. He feels much more relaxed now than he did before, even though his fingers still tingle a little from the memory of Haru's hand in his. Makoto's cheeks flush slightly, but he pushes all of the thoughts away and focuses instead on Haru, because Haru is right here in front of him, needing him to be his support.

"Makoto," says Haru, and Makoto lifts his head.

"What is it, Haru?"

There's a pause, and then, very quietly, Haru says, "Thank you."

The blush on Makoto's face is probably going to be a permanent one. His expression softens.

"You're welcome, Haru-chan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for angsty Makoto
> 
> really


	6. Blown Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a twenty minute train ride to Makoto's house. Haru makes it there in just under that, his feet and body carrying him automatically to the place that he knows best, to the person that he knows best. He doesn't even have to think about where he's going, he just goes, and by the time he gets there, there is an enormous stitch in his side and his legs are aching. He's had worse training sessions before, and running on pure adrenaline is exhausting once the crash starts - but Haru's mind is laser-focused on nothing but Makoto and his warmth, his compassion and understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me @ ringingwhispers.tumblr.com
> 
> There is art from this fic there!
> 
> also sorry for the angst /distant stare

"Nanase. _Nanase._ Oi, Nanase, are you paying attention?"

Haru jerks out of his thoughts rather abruptly, his wet hair plastered to his face as he turns to look at Yoshitomo, who is watching him with a somewhat exasperated look. He is tall, as tall as Rei is, and with powerful arms - the team's strongest butterflyer.

"No," Haru says truthfully, and Yoshitomo lets out a small snort that might be a laugh, or it might be a cough, Haru's not entirely certain.

Practice is held every day at 11:00AM sharp, except for Saturdays and Sundays and today is no exception. Haru is already in the pool, bobbing up and down by the starting block, but his thoughts are far from the upcoming match and instead are on something - for once - entirely unrelated to swimming. 

It's the Thursday after his weekend with Makoto, and he is wondering about Makoto (he always wonders about Makoto, so this isn't really a change), but he's also wondering about the little boat they found together on the beach. It's not even that big of a deal, but Makoto told him that it might be a sign of a good luck, and that Haru wasn't silly for thinking it was something special, which was reassuring. He had managed to convince a neighbor to drive Haru back to his place, and although Haru had protested against it at first, in the end Makoto had been firm, and Haru had been grateful not have to ride the train again. He knows it's ridiculous - he can't avoid the train forever, especially not with everything important in his life farther away than a comfortable walking distance - but at least until he gets himself together again in the next few days, he won't have to worry about it.

He hates this feeling he has; this sense of uncleanliness and uneasiness that spreads through him like a disease. It was only one incident, but Haru has a terrible, sinking apprehension that it won't be the last, and just thinking about it makes his head hurt.

"A couple of the guys are gonna go out to eat for dinner today," Yoshitomo is saying, and Haru drags himself back to reality, trying to focus on what's right in front of him. "Interested, Nanase? It'll just be something casual."

"No, thanks."

It's not that he doesn't like his teammates - in fact, he finds them all really very nice, but Haru's never been very good at socializing in large groups, and besides, he has to get home and clean and get his place ready for Saturday, when Makoto will be visiting. It's still two days away, but Haru is nothing if not prepared.

A part of him feels a little guilty at the disappointed expression on Yoshitomo's face as he says, "Well, next time maybe, okay?"

Haru gives a slow nod and pushes away from the wall, floating on his back as he closes his eyes. The water should soothe him, caress him like silk against his skin, but it doesn't this time. He's too unsettled, too mixed up inside over his growing feelings for Makoto and the incident that made everything worse on the train - not to mention that few seconds on the beach where Haru had grabbed Makoto's hand without thinking, and in spite of the fact that they'd both been wearing gloves, Haru can still feel the warmth. Just thinking about it now makes his cheeks flush a little, and maybe if he concentrates on that - on Makoto's comforting figure - then he'll be able to calm down a little.

Haru stays in the pool a good ten minutes after practice ends, just floating around, until the lifeguards tell him that the next team is coming and he needs to skedaddle. Then he drags himself out and is in the process of toweling off when he hears a familiar voice say, "Haru! Hey, Haru!"

He turns slowly, dread filling his stomach, and sure enough, there he is - Kisumi's brightly colored hair sets him apart from everyone as he weaves his way through the throngs of swimmers and stops in front of Haru, a grin on his face.

"I thought that was you!" Kisumi says, and Haru just stares mutely back at him. Makoto may not mind, but Haru certainly does not appreciate Kisumi's over-enthusiasm and habit of throwing his arm around people (especially Makoto) every chance he gets. He's not necessarily a _bad_ person - in fact, he's kinda nice - but that whole _touchy-feely_ thing is bad enough with Nagisa, and Kisumi only adds to it, making him very difficult to actually tolerate. Haru does try to put up with him because Makoto is good friends with Kisumi, but without Makoto as a buffer, Haru is left to deal with it all himself.

"I was just in the neighborhood," Kisumi continues, reaching to pat Haru on the shoulder, and there it is again - that sense of familiarity that Haru doesn't share. This is really the last thing he wants to deal with when his mind is so conflicted. "I had to drop Hayato-chan off at a special practice here, and when I heard that your team was using this pool too, I thought I'd swing by and see my old friend Haruka Nanase!"

Haru just looks at him. "My team?" he repeats slowly, and Kisumi grins.

"Right, yeah!" he says. "Your team? The giant conglomerate of swimmers all up in this space?"

"How do you know what my team is?" Haru asks, a little suspiciously.

Kisumi looks at him strangely. "Makoto, of course," he says, as though Haru should know this already. "He told me about it when you got to Tokyo, he was so excited. He tells me everything about you, I swear I know more about your team than I do my own classes, he never shuts up about _Haru this_ and _Haru that._ Last week, he told me that you guys went to eat at a noodle place and you almost spilled your bowl when you tried to add more mackerel to it."

Haru is torn between a sense of embarrassment at so much of himself revealed and a sense of overwhelming warmth at the fact that Makoto talks about him a lot. It's mingled with the feeling of annoyance that it's _Kisumi_ of all people that Makoto talks to, but he tries not to think about this too much, or the fact that apparently Makoto and Kisumi have been talking an awful lot since Makoto moved to Tokyo.

_Focus._

"Right..." says Haru, and lowers the towel finally, trying to maneuver himself away from Kisumi's hand, which is still on his shoulder. "I should get back."

"Awww, come on, Haru, I came all this way to see you!" Kisumi protests, his grip tightening, and Haru is jerked to an abrupt stop, almost dropping his goggles. "Let's go out and eat, okay? It's just about lunch time anyway, come on."

Haru doesn't exactly have time to argue, because Kisumi hauls him away with a friendly arm around his shoulders. 

Some way or another, he ends up at a little noodle stand with Kisumi on his left, and he's not quite sure how this happened.

"So," says Kisumi, beaming a grin at the stand owner, who cheerfully brings over two bowls of steaming soup. "Tell me all about your life in Tokyo."

Haru does not want to talk about his life in Tokyo. He snaps apart his chopsticks and sticks them into his noodles, idly pushing them around before forking some into his mouth and chewing deliberately slow. He's trying to prevent the inevitable, but something says that there's really no point, so with a sigh, he finally swallows and mutters, "It's good. I swim and go to classes."

Kisumi has already downed half of his bowl (where does he even put all of that away?). "What's it like, swimming for an actual team?" he asks, his mouth still full. Haru bristles a little at the insinuation, because even if his high school team consisted of exactly four people from the same town, it was still special to him. After all, swimming was how he'd become closer to Nagisa, Rin, and Rei, closer to Makoto.

_It's meaningless without you._

_"Iwatobi_ was a real team," Haru says, slightly indignantly, and Kisumi laughs, sounding good-natured.

"I mean," he says, "For a _professional_ team, where you have to, you know, keep track of times and stuff. I remember you never really caring about all of that before."

Haru gives a one shoulder shrug. Truth be told, he's still not entirely certain how he feels about it. He'd reached out for a dream after his trip to Australia, thinking that it was the right one, but somehow it's not really what he thought it would be. He's never been interested in the spotlight, yet his picture has been splashed across the front of dozens of papers and magazines, all with the same caption: _"Amazing Up-and-Coming New Talent in the Swim World! Haruka Nanase is a Force to be Reckoned With!"_

It's unsettling, especially with the throngs of people always queuing up to talk to him after meets, reporters shoving their microphones into his face or calling him at home for interviews. Haru isn't like Rin, who is lapping up the attention and praise with a lazy smirk and a casual wave in every picture taken of him; he is not so easily adaptable, which is why he's always depended on Makoto to be there to help him when he needs. Being thrust into a world where he's supposed to be some shining new star is uncomfortable, and Haru sometimes wonders whether or not he made the right choice.

He misses Makoto. It's only been less than a week, and he still misses him.

"Haru?" 

He's forgotten he's eating lunch with Kisumi. Haru snaps out of his thoughts and gives another stoic shrug. "It's weird," he says, trying to bypass the conversation by shoving a bite of noodles into his mouth. "I still only swim free."

Kisumi's smile is a little too knowing. "Still the same as ever, Haru," he says with a wink, and Haru gives him a flat look. Kisumi waves his hands.

"Don't make that expression, Haru, I was just - "

"Well, well...good evening, Haruka Nanase."

He would recognize that voice even if it wasn't from a few feet away, even if he hadn't tried to block it from his mind; it's ingrained into his thoughts like etchings carved onto stone, and he's pretty sure that he'll _never_ forget that voice, no matter how much he wants to.

A cold chill sweeps up and down Haru's spine, and the chopsticks fall from his fingers, clattering against his half eaten bowl of noodles as he slowly turns, his heart hammering against his chest. He is dimly aware of Kisumi giving him a questioning look as he says, _"Haru? What's the matter?"_ \- but Haru is more focused on the man he can see standing close by, dressed in an impeccable suit and tie and black coat, hands in his pockets. He's smiling, but it doesn't reach his eyes whatsoever, and if anything, the effect makes him more frightening.

"Didn't expect to run into you here," the man continues, and Haru is frozen in place, his fingers curling together. "How fortuitous. It's like... _fate,_ wouldn't you say?"

Kisumi has turned around to look as well, brows drawing together as he glances from Haru to the man and then back at Haru again, sitting stone-like in his seat, staring at the figure as though hoping it might just be a hallucination, an apparition of some sort. "Do you know this guy, Haru?" he asks, but before he can answer, the man has stepped closer, _too_ close.

"I was just remembering our good time on the train," he says in a low voice, and a hand lifts, icy fingers sliding down the side of Haru's cheek. "I've been watching you for so long now, Haruka Nanase, I'm sure that once you get to know me, we'll be great friends - "

Haru doesn't remember getting off of the chair, but somehow he has, his hands connecting with the man's chest, shoving him backwards several steps. He staggers, then picks himself up again, looking startled and angry, but Haru has already grabbed his backpack and is running, running, running. He can hear a distant shout from Kisumi, a yell of his name, but Haru doesn't look back, can't look back, can't think of anything except getting _away,_ far, far away. The uncleanliness spreads outwards from his face like a disease, tainting him from the inside out, and his mind is a jumble of confusion, fear, and anger. 

_I was never made for the spotlight,_ Haru thinks as he runs. _I was never made for this life._

It's a twenty minute train ride to Makoto's house. Haru makes it there in just under that, his feet and body carrying him automatically to the place that he knows best, to the person that he knows best. He doesn't even have to think about where he's going, he just _goes,_ and by the time he gets there, there is an enormous stitch in his side and his legs are aching. He's had worse training sessions before, and running on pure adrenaline is exhausting once the crash starts - but Haru's mind is laser-focused on nothing but Makoto and his warmth, his compassion and understanding.

Makoto, who is waiting, not inside of his apartment, as Haru thinks he'll be, but outside on the sidewalk in just a short-sleeved teeshirt, looking concerned. Relief courses through Haru's veins at just the mere sight of him, because here with Makoto, he is safe. 

Here with Makoto, he is _home._

"Haru!" he says, starting towards him as Haru slows his steps, and his spread arms look so open and inviting, Haru just wants to sink into them. "Kisumi called me, what - "

"MAKOTO!" Haru screams, and there's suddenly no time, and everything seems to move in slow motion.

A figure moves behind Makoto, fast enough that his arms are blurred as they swing - there is a sharp _crack_ and Makoto crumples to the ground. The man stands behind him, a baseball bat in hand, breathing heavily, the door to a car he's clearly just jumped out of still open behind him.

_No, no, no -_

A fear unlike any other has taken ahold of Haru's heart. He can't breathe properly, black spots appearing in his line of vision as the man lowers his baseball bat, swiping a hand through his messy hair. He clicks his tongue reprovingly at Haru, starting a slow, but steady walk closer, and with each step, it sounds like a nail being driven into Haru's head. He can't tear his eyes away from the still form of Makoto on the pavement, can't stop the swell of panic rising in his stomach, making his chest feel tight with each rattling breath that he takes.

_No, no, no I love you no -_

"I told you we should get to know each other better," the man says breathlessly. "Look, Haruka, I didn't want to do it, but you weren't listening to me. I left your other friend at the restaurant, he was harmless, but then I overheard him calling your other friend here, and, well, I thought I had better follow you, just in case, you know? Just to make sure you were doing okay."

Haru drags in a breath, and it's painful. Everything is painful.

The man puts a hand on his shoulder, and each and every cell in Haru's body recoils at the touch, shrieking protests, but he can't move; he's frozen in place through sheer terror at Makoto just _lying there_ and _please for the love of everything don't let him be hurt don't let him be anything other than okay don't let him be -_

"I do this for your own good, Haruka," he says wisely, with a nod. "The others, they don't know how _special_ you are, but, you know, I've seen you in competitions and meets. You're gonna go far, and I think if you take me on as your manager, you'll be a grand star, and you deserve it, Haruka, you - "

The rest of his sentence is lost; Haru has slammed a fist into the man's face with a nasty crunching sound, breaking away from his grip and stumbling sideways. The man lets out a shout of fury, spitting curses, his hands flying up to his nose, which is now streaming blood and looking bent in several places. He's dropped the bat - Haru makes a running leap for it and snatches it up, rearing back and snapping it at the man's head.

His aim is weak, and the blow only grazes, but it's done its job. The man wavers and staggers, and then drops down to his knees and tips sideways, completely winded - and then he's lying on the ground on his back, eyes closed. He's still breathing, but he's out cold.

Haru stands there for a moment, his chest heaving - but then the fear makes him run, and he sprints over to Makoto's limp form, collapsing slowly down to the ground beside him. For several seconds, he can't seem to properly get air into his lungs - he makes a rasping sort of gasp, a terrible heave, and then reaches out an unsteady hand to very gently touch Makoto's shoulder.

"Makoto," he says hoarsely, tentatively, _desperately._ "Makoto."

There is no answer. Makoto's eyes are shut, but his chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.

 _"Makoto,"_ Haru says again, and trembling fingers gently caress his best friend's hair, only to pull them away sticky with blood.

He feels like throwing up; he almost does. Haru just stares for a moment, trying to breathe, before he reaches into his coat, fumbling for the phone he knows is there, but his hands are shaking so badly that he has difficulty just doing this one thing. When he finally manages to pull it free, he presses a few buttons, smearing blood over the keys, and holds it to his ear.

It rings once, and then he picks up.

"Haru, thank heavens, what the hell was that all about? I called Makoto, and - "

"Kisumi," Haru chokes out, "Help me."

There's a pause, and then -

"Haru? What's wrong, what happened?"

He can barely get the words out. He feels dizzy and lightheaded, and his vision keeps wavering, but he forces himself to stay lucid enough, he _needs_ to stay lucid.

"Makoto," Haru forces out. "Makoto he's - he's hurt, he's bleeding - "

"Haru." Kisumi's voice is firm. "Haru, stay where you are, I'll get the stand owner to call an ambulance, stay on the line with me okay? He'll be okay, Haru, he'll be okay."

Haru repeats these words over and over to himself until he hears the distant wail of the sirens, because he needs something to hold onto, something to grasp so that he doesn't slip away into nothingness.

_He'll be okay he'll be okay he'll be okay._

_Please be okay._


	7. Linger a Bit Longer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He dreads the moment in which he has to face the Tachibanas. Haru doesn't want to see the way they look at him, doesn't want to feel the brunt of their disappointment for allowing this to happen to their son. He is ashamed of himself, embarrassed and angry that he has done something terrible to the one person he would give his life for, and he isn't sure that he can handle the weight of their accusations, as well as their pain, on top of his own.
> 
> Mrs. Tachibana takes him by the hands, draws him against her chest, wraps her arms around his shoulders, and whispers words of thanks.
> 
> It makes him feel, if possible, even worse.

Haru doesn't sleep.

For the first twenty minutes alone, he sticks resolutely to Makoto's side as they load him into the ambulance (he's _so damn still, too still)_ and then take him to the nearest hospital. He's not allowed to ride along; contrary to the movies, there isn't enough room in the back of an ambulance what with the stretcher, the medics, and all of their gear. He starts to panic at first, mumbling something frantic and incoherent about not wanting to leave him alone, but Kisumi gently and firmly takes him by the shoulders and leads him away. There are quiet words of reassurance spoken, but Haru barely hears any of them, just notices the tone of voice, and clings to the desperate hope that Makoto will be all right.

Kisumi catches them a cab and Haru doesn't remember the ride, or the way that Kisumi pulls out his phone to make several calls. When they arrive at the hospital, they aren't allowed into the back until Makoto is stabilized, and Haru leans against the wall, sinks down until he can rest his forehead on his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs. He feels entirely numb inside, frozen cold, and is vaguely aware that his own phone keeps buzzing, but he doesn't answer it, doesn't have words even formulated enough to make full sentences.

An hour and a half after Makoto is admitted, the doctor comes out.

"You can see him now," he says, and Kisumi gently taps Haru's shoulder. He doesn't look up, too afraid to hear what might come next.

"Is he awake?" he hears Kisumi ask.

"Not yet," comes the answer, and Haru's heart sinks.

"Well...how bad is it?" 

"I'm sorry." The response is spoken kindly, but resolutely. "Unless you're family, I can't reveal anything. Patient confidentiality, you understand."

"Right," says Kisumi, sounding a little disappointed by this, but he's wrapped a hand around Haru's arm and pulls him to his feet. Haru isn't sure he can take it - he's still very unsteady on his feet, and sways dangerously, but for once he's glad to have Kisumi's lack of personal space. He lets Kisumi lead him down a hallway and then take a left; there's a small gust of displaced air and a click as a door opens, and then the two of them are inside the room. Haru doesn't want to look, but he does anyway, and it makes his stomach turn.

Makoto is lying on his back on the little bed, head tilted a little to the side, his eyes closed. Bandages are wrapped around his forehead and around the back of his head, white and clean and pristine. His breathing seems steady enough, but he's got a cannula threaded beneath his nose and around over his ears to pump oxygen into his lungs, just in case. An IV is visible protruding from his right arm, in a vein just below his elbow, and there's no beeping noises to indicate a heart rhythm (another thing wrong in the movies, Haru notes sardonically), but the monitor shows that it's within normal parameters.

(Haru only knows this because of his coach's insistence that they all be aware of their own bodies and how the training impacts their heart and lungs, and it's only now that he fully appreciates this knowledge.)

There are two chairs, one the size of a small armchair, with a push out footrest, and the other is slightly smaller, and looks marginally less comfortable. Kisumi takes the latter of these, graciously leaving the bigger one for Haru. He does so after a moment, sitting down slowly, his body feeling stiff.

"He looks all right," says Kisumi with audible relief. "See, Haru? Just a little bump on the noggin, that's all."

Haru nods mutely. Seeing Makoto like this, however - lying in a _hospital bed,_ hooked up to machines and getting medication pumped into his veins - is terrifying.

Kisumi is squinting at the bags hanging from the IV stand beside the bed. "Morphine," he says, after a second. "For the pain."

Haru just leans back in his chair and doesn't move.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

He tries to sleep.

(It doesn't work.)

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Kisumi handles the phone calls that Haru won't deal with, _can't_ deal with. Makoto's parents are the first; Haru can hear the panic in their voices from where he sits, and he curls his fingers, nails digging into his palms, and hates that he is the cause of their son's suffering. Guilt washes over him, thick and clawing, and he has to force himself to stay where he is and not run away, for Makoto's sake. 

"They're coming tonight, or tomorrow morning, depending," Kisumi tells him when he hangs up. "They can't get a flight until later."

Haru doesn't even have the strength nod to acknowledge this, but he doesn't need to.

It takes a lot more patience on Kisumi's part to convince Nagisa and Rei not to come, both of whom are ready to jump on the nearest plane and head over. Kisumi assures them, raising his voice above Nagisa's objections, that Makoto will only be here a short while, and that there is a limit on visitors anyway, and that he will let them know when things change. Neither of the two is particularly happy about the decision, but they agree to it anyway.

Rin takes it much better, only because catching a plane from Australia is both expensive and difficult, but he does let both Haru and Kisumi know, in no uncertain terms, just how he feels about _"that fucking bastard who hurt Makoto."_

Haru is secretly grateful for Rin's anger because Haru is too wracked with grief to feel the anger himself. And he is very grateful for Kisumi and his ability to handle the things that Haru is unable to.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * 

 

"Ryugazaki, he's fine, seriously. Tell your boyfriend to stop being so noisy, I can barely hear you over Nagisa-chan's hollering. What? No, no, Makoto's parents are already here, they got here an hour ago, they're getting some food after talking to the doctor; we haven't even seen them for more than a few seconds. Ren and Ran are with their grandparents, the Tachibanas didn't want them to worry too much. Apparently Makoto's suffered a severe concussion, but his skull is fine, no breakage, and there's nothing in his brain that wasn't there before. They say he was very lucky, but that he might have some symptoms after - you know, a bit of memory loss, some headaches, dizziness, mood swings, all temporary, so it's all good after all. What? ...no, no, they caught the guy who did it, Haru knocked him unconscious, and they took him in when they brought in Makoto. Apparently he's been stalking Haru this whole time, and followed him to Makoto's apartment, but that bastard is all locked up now. ...no, no, there's no one else, just the one guy, thank heavens. ...Haru? He's here, he's sleeping.

"He hasn't left Makoto's side at all."

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * 

 

He dreads the moment in which he has to face the Tachibanas. Haru doesn't want to see the way they look at him, doesn't want to feel the brunt of their disappointment for allowing this to happen to their son. He is ashamed of himself, embarrassed and angry that he has done something terrible to the one person he would give his life for, and he isn't sure that he can handle the weight of their accusations, as well as their pain, on top of his own.

Mrs. Tachibana takes him by the hands, draws him against her chest, wraps her arms around his shoulders, and whispers words of thanks.

It makes him feel, if possible, even worse.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * 

 

When Haru wakes up, it's to find himself alone with Makoto.

He doesn't know where everyone else is. It's dark outside, the curtains drawn around the hospital bed, and a dim, yellowish gleam edging in from a partially open door is the only source of light. The chair beside him - which Kisumi has graciously given up to Mrs. Tachibana every time she's there - is empty, and so is the rest of the room. Haru has been sleeping without realizing it, and his whole body feels stiff and sore, his neck at an awkward angle from his head drifting onto his shoulder.

Wincing slightly, he pulls himself up a little and casts a glance over at Makoto; his eyes are still closed, but he seems peaceful, at least. Haru dares to inch closer, and then he's standing, his fingers drifting along the edge of the thin mattress. They are shaking; he tries to make it stop by reaching out and brushing a few stray strands of hair out of Makoto's face, but they tremble even harder at the contact, and he soon drops his hand away.

When he looks down at his best friend, lying on the hospital bed, Haru feels his face burn. He wants to melt into the ground and disappear, let the world swallow him up for his mistakes and his mess-ups, because it should not be Makoto there, it should be Haru, but instead it's Makoto - beautiful, perfect, wonderful Makoto whose only fault is that he's allowed Haru into his life more than he should have. 

The weight of Haru's emotions makes him feel as if he is drowning; the sensation is frightening. He takes a step away, unable to bear it.

"Haru..?"

He snaps his head around so fast it's a miracle nothing breaks.

Makoto is looking up at him, eyes a little bleary, only partially opened, but open nonetheless. He looks sleepy and uncertain, but there is faint and familiar smile on his lips, and it makes Haru's heart ache, almost makes a little gasp escape his throat before he swallows it painfully back down. He moves back towards the bed, hardly able to breathe at all, hardly able to think.

"Makoto," he manages to get out. "Good evening."

Then he has to mentally smack himself because that's all he can say, after all this? _Good evening?_ But Makoto looks pleased, and he lifts a hand slowly, fingers curling around Haru's wrist and tugging slightly. The contact sends warmth rippling up and down Haru's arm, all the way up to his shoulder and all the way down to his fingertips, spreading across his chest until it encases his entire body.

"Good evening, Haru," Makoto says in return, a little hoarsely, and Haru loses the ability to stand. He sinks down to his knees, his arms resting on the bed beside Makoto, and buries his face into them. His shoulders shake with mingled emotions of overwhelming relief, guilt, fear - and a sweeping, powerful love for Makoto Tachibana that cannot be paralleled, nor can it be ignored. He can't stop the shaking, can't suppress the small, pained sound that passes his lips.

A gentle hand touches his head, fingers sifting through Haru's hair.

"I'm okay, Haru-chan," Makoto says softly. "It's okay."

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * 

 

Haru manages to avoid the Tachibanas for most of the next morning, but they still catch him before they leave Makoto's apartment in the early afternoon. 

"Just...just keep an eye on him for us, okay?" 

Mrs. Tachibana reaches out a hand and squeezes Haru's fingers. He doesn't squeeze back, but he can't ignore the imploring tone of her voice, nor the sense of responsibility he feels towards their son. Taking care of Makoto was always part of the plan, and he would have done it even if he didn't feel so horrible about the entire situation. 

Haru gives a slow nod, and both of Makoto's parents look relieved.

"We would stay longer," Mr. Tachibana says, "But we have to get back, and we know that having you with him will be a great help. You two are so close, after all."

 _Because I'm in love with your son,_ Haru fills in mentally, _Because it's my fault he was even in the hospital in the first place, because I would do anything to take his pain away -_ but of course doesn't say it, just nods again.

Mrs. Tachibana has gone over to Makoto, who is lying in his futon, all tucked beneath the covers. She leans over and presses a kiss to his forehead, and he smiles sleepily up at her as she touches his cheek affectionately. Watching the two of them brings a different sort of emotion to Haru, one he can't quite put a name to, and he looks away, feeling as though he is intruding upon a private moment.

He is grateful when they finally are gone, and then it's just him and Makoto again. Haru kneels down beside him, folding his hands into his lap because he doesn't know what else to do with them.

"Are you hungry?" he asks. "Kisumi bought us some dinner before he left, I could heat it up for you."

Makoto lets out a little laugh. "No thanks." His eyes drift upwards to Haru, who finds it hard to maintain contact. He looks away.

"Haru."

"Mmm." A noncommittal noise.

"Haru-chan, I'm glad you're here."

He manages to drag his gaze back at that. Makoto is still smiling, and it makes Haru feel slightly lightheaded, because how can Makoto still smile with everything that has gone on? With everything that Haru has dragged him through, how can Makoto still smile at him like that and make him feel as though he is the only person in the universe that gets to see that side of Makoto Tachibana?

"I'm..." He can't get the words out, doesn't even know what he's trying to say. _Sorry I screwed things up? Glad that you're here too? Happy you're okay?_ Everything piles together inside of his head, giving Haru a terrible sense of dizziness.

Makoto slides a hand out from beneath his futon and manages to find Haru's fingers. They are trembling again, but Makoto gives them a warm squeeze.

"Stay with me?" he says softly, almost childlike in his request, and some of the tension eases from Haru's shoulders. He curls his hand around Makoto's.

"Always," he replies quietly.


	8. Dizzy and Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halfway through, Makoto realizes he's not really paying much attention to the movie. His head feels light, his vision not quite focusing on the screen, though he's pretty sure it's just the effects of the medication, not the actual injury becoming worse. He slants sideways a little, exhaling a breath, and feels Haru shift slightly to make room. His movements put his shoulder right near Makoto's cheek, and he wonders drowsily whether it's a good idea or a bad idea to just let himself drift downwards to rest on it. It's not like Makoto hasn't fallen asleep on Haru's shoulder several times already, but he is much more aware of his feelings now, much more in tune with the fact that the more time he spends with Haru, the harder it is to deny the longing in his heart, the ache in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Sorry for the long delay in posting; there was a death in my family, and I'm in the middle of moving, but things are beginning to settle down, so I finally had time to write for these two again. <3 **

"Please, Makoto, tell me you're not actually trying to get up and do things."

Makoto gives a weak sort of smile, somewhat grateful that Rin can't see it over the phone. "I was hungry," he says, in a placating tone. "Haru is taking a nap, I didn't want to wake him."

"Napping like _you_ should be doing?" Rin says pointedly, completely ignoring the second half of the sentence. "Makoto, you were just _bashed_ in the _fucking head_ by a complete psycho stalker bastard and spent the night in the hospital with a severe concussion. You're supposed to be _resting,_ not getting up and moving around. Isn't that what Haru is there for in the first place? To make sure you don't do something stupid like, I don't know, try and make yourself dinner?"

"Yes, well," Makoto tilts his head, peering into his bedroom where he can see the faint silhouette of Haru's sleeping form. "Haru's been through a lot, Rin. I wanted to give him a few moments' peace."

It's nearing seven; the day has gone by relatively slowly, and Makoto has spent the majority of it dozing on and off. He is vaguely aware of waking up to find Haru puttering around the apartment, cleaning or cooking, or sometimes just sitting in the room and reading - but much of his thoughts are messy and dreamlike. He wonders if it's a side effect of the painkillers he's currently taking or just simple weariness, but either way he is glad that as of right now he's mostly lucid and able to move without too much effort. 

His head still throbs a little beneath the bandages; Makoto tries hard not to think about the incident that caused it, instead focusing solely on taking things as carefully as he can. Being upright takes a bit more effort than usual, and sometimes he finds himself swaying a bit where he stands, but he's determined not to play damsel in distress while Haru's here, especially since he doesn't want to make Haru feel any worse about this than he already does. Even if he hasn't said anything, Makoto knows Haru well enough to see that he's blaming himself entirely for the incident, when it's not his fault at all.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Rin's voice comes out loud through the phone. Makoto winces a little, holding it an inch away before he presses it back against his ear. The pan on the stove is sizzling, the smell of fish beginning to fill the little apartment. It's not mackerel (for which he's _almost_ sorry), but tuna, because it's the closest thing he can find to Haru's favorite dish without having to go out and buy something.

 _"Volume,"_ he says pointedly, in just above a whisper, and Rin tones it down somewhat, though he doesn't stop the reprimands.

"Makoto, stop playing noble and get your ass back in bed."

"But - " Makoto starts to say, except he's cut off by a resounding snort.

"That plaintive shit might work on Haru, but not me, you asshole," Rin says sternly. "Now go back to fucking bed and eat some fucking chicken noodle soup."

There's a click; he's hung up, probably out of sheer stubbornness than anything else, and Makoto sighs. He slides the phone back into his pocket and rubs at his jaw, absently poking at the fish on the stove with a chopstick. Truth be told, he's not exactly sure how to proceed; Haru's supposed to be staying with him for the next few days, just to keep an eye on him; but with Haru's guilt and Makoto's pining, Makoto's not entirely certain just how well that's going to work out. Having Haru over normally is usually okay, because they have other things to keep themselves occupied, and he's never really had any problems keeping his feelings in check; but he can't help but feel like this is somehow different. Maybe it's because of the circumstances surrounding Haru staying over, or maybe it's because Makoto's just feeling a little loopy in the head thanks to his injuries, but either way, Makoto feels strangely on edge.

"Makoto."

He jumps nearly a foot; the pan clatters, and a chopstick falls to the floor with a little clicking noise, bouncing away and sliding until it comes to a stop at the bare feet of one Haruka Nanase.

"Haru-chan!" Makoto says, starting to bend down to pick up the fallen utensil, but Haru stops him with a hand and stoops to get it himself. "I thought you were asleep!"

"I was." Haru's eyes bore into him; Makoto can feel his face flushing. 

"What are you doing?" Haru asks, glancing at the stove, and Makoto follows his line of vision, feeling slightly guilty.

"I was, ah, making some dinner," he answers, hastily stepping over to stir the sauce over the fish. Makoto is acutely aware that Haru has stepped up beside him, watching silently as Makoto fumbles (cooking has never been a strong suit of his, as already demonstrated, and he's even more flustered now that he's being watched); and then wordlessly, a hand closes over his as Haru steps in between him and the stove, taking the chopsticks from his fingers easily. 

"Go sit down," Haru instructs. "I'll finish."

"But - " Makoto begins to protest, but Haru just waves him away, and Makoto slumps over to the kotatsu in his living room. He takes a seat, curling his legs beneath the warmth, and leans over, pressing his head against the top of the table. A part of him wants to turn around and watch Haru as he cooks, but he doesn't have the energy; and just listening to the sounds of him cooking is reassuring in and of itself, so Makoto lets that reassure him. Gradually, he can feel himself relaxing, bit by bit, in spite of the fact that he can still feel the delicate touch of Haru's slender fingers against his own.

He's not sure when, but sometime later, a hand touches his shoulder, ghosting, barely even there.

"Makoto. Dinner."

He opens his eyes groggily and sits up. Makoto doesn't recall falling asleep, but Haru is kneeling beside him, sliding a plate of steaming fish and rice onto the table. A cup of tea already sits beside it, steaming gently, and it's green barley, Makoto's favorite.

"Ah, Haru," says Makoto sleepily, giving him a little smile, cheeks flushed pink as the former sits down kitty-corner to him, tucking his legs beneath him. "Thank you, I ah..."

But he doesn't know what else to say, at least not yet. Haru is eating in silence, his vibrant blue eyes watching him, and sometimes Makoto thinks he could drown in those eyes. He gets a little distracted, flustered in his mannerisms and winds up dropping food into his lap several times during the course of their meal, giving the excuse that he's just a little tired when Haru turns a questioning gaze towards him. Chances are, Haru is seeing right through this flimsy excuse, since they've always been able to read each other without much effort, but Makoto doesn't have an answer for the real reason he's so clumsy tonight.

He can't tell Haru it's _because you make me nervous because I love you,_ so instead he just makes more excuses.

"A movie?" Haru asks, when the dishes have been cleared and put away and Makoto is sitting on the couch, leaning his head against the back of it. He gives a little nod and a small smile, and Haru kneels in front of the television and begins sorting through the various DVDs on the shelf, holding up one or two every few seconds, to which Makoto gives either a yes or a no. After about ten minutes, they finally narrow it down to one of Haru's favorites - a gentle and moving story of a young Maori girl, called _Whale Rider._

Haru sits down beside Makoto on the couch, leaving space between them but not too much, and Makoto tries not to think too hard about the fact that their arms brush together every time either of them move.

Halfway through, Makoto realizes he's not really paying much attention to the movie. His head feels light, his vision not quite focusing on the screen, though he's pretty sure it's just the effects of the medication, not the actual injury becoming worse. He slants sideways a little, exhaling a breath, and feels Haru shift slightly to make room. His movements put his shoulder right near Makoto's cheek, and he wonders drowsily whether it's a good idea or a bad idea to just let himself drift downwards to rest on it. It's not like Makoto hasn't fallen asleep on Haru's shoulder several times already, but he is much more aware of his feelings now, much more in tune with the fact that the more time he spends with Haru, the harder it is to deny the longing in his heart, the ache in his chest.

"Makoto," says Haru quietly, his voice sifting softly into Makoto's ears, and Makoto smiles, because he knows what he's asking, can tell by the subtle inflection of his tone, the way his voice rises and falls, the unspoken question as loud as though it had been said out loud.

"I'm fine," he says gently, and lifts his head, trying to give Haru what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

The smile, however, falters, because their faces are only a few inches apart, at best. Makoto feels his stomach lurch, feels like the space between them is next to nonexistent, can feel every edge of himself as though it's burning from the inside out. Haru's eyes are drawing him in, steeped in concern, though it doesn't register on his face, and everything seems to be reduced to this moment in time, this particular few seconds, minutes, like the world is tilting on its axis and yet they remain still, just the two of them. 

Rin has always been passionate about swimming. Nagisa, food. Rei, beautiful things. Haru, water, of course.

Makoto enjoys many things, but none of them even compare to the overwhelming and all-encompassing passion that he holds for Haruka Nanase.

He realizes they have been sitting, staring at each other, for several minutes now. Makoto can feel the creep of a blush beginning to spread across his cheeks, but he can't seem to tear his eyes away, can't seem to pull himself back, to remind himself that he can't do anything. Instead, his hand lifts, and he traces the very tips of his shaking fingers down Haru's cheek, feeling cool skin against them, feeling that cool skin begin to warm as Haru's eyes widen, his breath catching in his throat. Makoto feels almost drunk, anxious, exhilarated, terrified, _longing_ all at once; and it's the last one of these that's the most prominent, that he feels clawing its way up into his heart, seizing ahold of his more rational senses.

He tilts his head closer, breath stuttering embarrassingly, his hand sliding along Haru's jaw to cup his face. Haru is rigid where he sits, and Makoto's lips ghost once over his, hardly gracing them with their warmth, lower lip trembling in anticipation and nervousness. But even just the barest imprint of a kiss is all Makoto needs, because it sends a fierce jolt of _wanting, needing_ all the way through him.

"Mak - " Haru starts to say, one hand rising, but it's cut abruptly short, because Makoto is an idiot, because Makoto can't hold back anymore.

This time his lips press firmly against Haru's, and the latter's gasp is drawn into his own mouth, swallowed down as Makoto breathes a sigh of relief, of satisfaction and happiness. His fingers curl around the back of Haru's neck and help tilt his head up, Haru's fingers resting loosely around Makoto's wrist - whether to pull him away or draw him nearer, Makoto has no idea. All he knows is that _this_ is what he's wanted to do for so long that he's forgotten when it was that he first began to realize his feelings. It feels like he's been in love with Haru forever, that they've been together forever, that this is just a natural progression of the way things are meant to be.

"Haru," Makoto sighs against his lips, and he can feel Haru's fingers jerk slightly. He presses one more kiss, and then that's not enough, so he presses another, and then another; and somewhere in his mind he registers that Haru has not yanked back, that slowly he is beginning to respond himself, lips parting just enough to breathe each other in.

When Makoto finally manages to pull away, its not far, his head tilting to rest against the side of the couch. His hand is still on Haru's face, but it slides away after a second, trailing down his neck.

Haru catches his fingers before they completely drift, holding them steady, and his face is pink, cheeks warmed. A dawning realization begins to dawn in Makoto the longer he looks at him, the longer that he sees those slightly reddened lips, the longer he sees the blush on Haru's face, and _holy shit, he just kissed his best friend, he just kissed Haruka Nanase._

Makoto jerks his hand away, leaps to his feet, and realizes this is a very bad idea when a bout of nausea hits him, and he sways dangerously, staggering.

"Makoto!" Haru says, and his hands grasp Makoto's shoulders, holding him steady as Makoto pushes his fingers against his temple to try and stop the sudden influx of dizziness and pain that have washed over him. He offers Haru a weak smile, shame sliding through him like water, because he knows Haru just kissed back to be polite, that he didn't want to be rude and push him away, because Haru is never rude, because they have always been together - and _how_ could he have done such a thing after all that has happened to Haru in the past few days, after all he's been through, _how_ did Makoto let himself get swept up into it all -

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Makoto says and takes a steadying breath. "Really, Haru, I'm fine."

Haru remains unconvinced, but Makoto gently extracts himself from the other's grasp. "Really," he insists again, waving a hand to try and indicate this fineness. "I'm - Haru, I'm so sorry - the medicine, it's making my head all funny, I think - I think I just need to sleep, but it's okay, I'll be okay, we'll be - I mean, I'll - yes, that's right, I'll be okay, Haru, don't mind me, okay - "

His laughter is short and stuttered. Makoto is beyond embarrassed with himself now, backing away to his room, desperate to hide away beneath the covers and pretend that the past five minutes never happened while simultaneously reliving every second of them. Haru is standing in front of him, arms at his sides, and for the first time in his life, Makoto can't read him at all. He doesn't know what Haru is thinking, whether Haru is disgusted at him, whether he's still concerned, whether he liked the kiss _(please please please)_ , whether he hates it, whether he was just going along with it because Makoto's injured and he feels guilty.

"Makoto," Haru says, and Makoto winces again, digging the heel of his hand into his throbbing head.

"It's fine, Haru-chan, really," he says, and smiles. It feels horribly forced. "I'm - I think I just need to lie down for a bit, really. I'm sorry."

And then he stumbles to his room and closes the door behind him, falling onto the futon and wishing everything was back the way it had been before he'd fallen in love with Haruka Nanase.


End file.
